Survival
by AilciA
Summary: AragornLegolas friendship story. The pair get caught out unexpectedly in Mirkwood and have to survive a night or two in it's winter... throw in Wargs, injuries, feezing coldness, and you have action with a dash of humour and angst. COMPLETE
1. Winter

A/N: Hello, I hope everyone from Vignettes has joined me - action at last! I warned you I was going to try! Just bear with me...  
  
This is a friendship piece, Legolas and Aragorn get caught out in Mirkwood, and have to survive a night in it's winter...  
  
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"Well, *I'm* glad you decided we would have a walk in the woods today, orc- face."  
  
"There's no need to get ratty, Legolas - how was I to know the weather would turn so utterly foul?"  
  
"You should have had the fore-sight to plan ahead in case it did! You're *supposed* to be a a ranger of the very highest standards, novice-wise... I hope you're a damn sight better than this usually, otherwise all of Annor is lost!"  
  
Things were growing to be more than a tad tetchy between the two best friends; for they were caught in the middle of the beginnings of a snow- storm... both fully believing it to be the other's fault they were in such a predicament.  
  
Aragorn, beginner-ranger of the North and eventual heir to Isildur and the throne of Gondor, was utterly convinced that it was Legolas Greenleaf, last prince of Eryn Lasgalen and warrior elf of the very highest standard, was the one who had led them so far astray from the borders of the Mirkwood palace... and yet Legolas himself was firm in the notion that it had been *Aragorn's* idea to start off with and *his* smart plan that had brought them into the woods on such a day as that. The sky above was a forebodingly- dark hue, the clouds low and heavy in the sky, ready to shed their snowy- loads upon the world below them - both man and elf knew a snow-storm was to start at any given moment, and they were many miles from the palace, now... if Aragorn had not been so anxious, he would have even been amazed at the amount of ground he and his friend could cover in such a short space of time when they wanted to, too bad it was in the opposite direction to the palace.  
  
Now the world around them was cold and miserable - and they were completely uncovered by trees, having reached one of the very few bare patches in the whole of Mirkwood where the ground beneath the canopy was open to the elements. Their timing, as always, was impeccable.  
  
Aragorn turned upon his friend with annoyance, and was met with a stormy scowl that graced the fair being's usually-pleasant face. "I'm going to pretend you didn't say that," he stated, threat lacing his tone with acidity as his slate-grey eyes bore veritable holes in the elf's own green orbs. Legolas' eyes flashed silver with barely-concealed vexation, but he held his tongue maturely, and looked up to the low clouds again as a distraction.  
  
A look of anxiousness crossed his face in a swift moment, before he looked back to his best friend, "We should really find *some* sort of shelter, Estel," he gently reminded the ranger, not wishing to stamp upon the man's toes.  
  
"I know that, Legolas!" Aragorn cried out, his temper getting the better of him as it often did during his 'teen years', as Lord Elrond put it. Aragorn was only just seventeen, and growing to be a fine ranger - even if *that* particular instant didn't reflect it so. The young man immediately regretting taking his anger out on the prince, as he always did whenever he was unfair in his actions towars the elf; he knew it was not Legolas' fault they were stuck so. "I am sorry, mellon nin, that was uncalled for," he looked down at his weather-proof boots.  
  
"Yes it was," Greenleaf said mildly, and Aragorn looked up to find the elf smiling with amusement, a golden brow raised. The ranger shook his dark head and rolled his eyes, smiling at the strange being, and the elf sniffed the air and looked all about them. He surmised, "Well, we're never going to find shelter here... it's too open, mayhap if we keep walking we can avoid the snow." As soon as the hopefull words left his pale lips, one single white flake floated down in the space between the two companions, beautiful but foreboding, they both watched it fall silently to the ground, and then dissolve away into nothing. It's plight was followed by another, and then a few more, and then a whole hoard of of the unique and yet annoyingly similar objects fell down from the heavens, beginning to coat the earth as they lay.  
  
Legolas risked a glance up at his best friend, biting his lip as he looked up through his eyelashes, struggling valiantly to keep the smile his heart felt from his face. Aragorn just glared at him, grey eyes ablaze, "What was that?" the ranger asked, his voice merely a hiss. The elf could not hold back his laughter any longer and snorted helplessly in a most unprincely manner, holding a hand to his mouth to try and muffle the sound of his mirth. "It's not funny." If he had been younger, Aragorn would have pouted, as it was, he crossed his arms and turned away from his childish friend in annoyance.  
  
The prince dropped his slender hand and rolled his eyes, "Oh, *come on*, Estel - look on the bright side for once, you pessimistic human... it's actually quite amusing." It was well known in tales of the terrifying Firstborn from the Mirkwood realm that even though they were the most solemn, severe and dangerous of the race of Elves, their wits sharpened and suspicious from long years innumerable of constant jeopardy and threats to their homes and themselves, having to learn to be as quick and lethal as assasins from their early years - they did had a queer sense of humour, one that might intimidate any mortal who did not know them well.  
  
~And Legolas *would* have to find *this* funny...~ Aragorn grumped. He sighed, giving in, "I suppose you are right."  
  
"As always," Legolas was quick to add.  
  
Aragorn ignored him pointedly, " - mayhap we should try and find shelter, and just wait it out... it seems our original plan of escaping it has been scarpered." He looked around him at their sparce surroundings, all now covered with a thin veil of snow. "This way," he stated confidently, and strode in that direction.  
  
Legolas followed him reluctantly, mumbling under his breath, "An elf led by a man - whatever is the world coming to?"  
  
Aragorn pretended not to hear him.  
  
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"Estel? Did you feel that?"  
  
Silence reigned suddenly, and the man stopped to look back at his best friend. Legolas was standing stock still, like a coney when it detects a fox - Aragorn could almost picture his elven ears twitching. He pushed this mildy-hilarious thought sharply away from his mind with a shake of his head, "No, what's the problem?"  
  
Legolas turned his fair head, and his green eyes flickering from one side of the beaten pathway, half-hidden by a thick coverlet of snow, to the other as he listened with all his might. Darkness had crept into his heart, and not the usual of Mirkwood's darkening precense - it was something extra... he had felt it many times before, and it took him only a moment before he could positively place it. "Wargs!" he cried in warning just as three of the foul beasts leapt with blood-curdling howls from the dense trees surrounding them. The two warriors immediately snapped to attention.  
  
His best friend was more than capable in his skills as a ranger, though Legolas never outwardly told him so, but not even an elf could manage a warg unaided all that often, much less three of the buggers. As it was, Aragorn's sword rang as he unsheathed it swiftly, and he immediately attempted to scewer the huge Warg running full pelt towards him. It was a just plan, and one that might have succeeded, but the Warg merely batted away the weapon with it's paw as if it were no more an annoying fly, knocking the sword completely from Aragorn's grasp.  
  
Aragorn fully expected to have his face ripped off by the oncoming wolf before he could even reach for his dagger.  
  
He flung his arms up to protect his face - he rather liked it and was not keen on the idea of having it torn off him - but, to his vast surprise, he felt no huge teeth ripping at his flesh. There was a roar of anger and pain, and Aragorn suddenly a very, *very* sharp pain in the back of his head as he was slammed into a tree, the full weight of a Warg bearing down upon him. Between the stars that had suddenly appeared in his vision and the swirling snow all about, he could just make out the head of an arrow potruding sickly from the monster's broad forehead. Darkness overwhelmed him before he could see much more, and he lost consciousness before he'd really had the chance to fight.  
  
Legolas, however, was in the thick of it, with more than his fair share of fighting to contend with. He was taking on two of the hulking great beasts at the same time, and wasn't all that confident he could do such a thing. He seemed to dance about the pathway, hoping to at least outrun the Wargs till he got his chance to defend himself... this plan, however, had many flaws. For one, Wargs are faster than they appear, and though they cannot fully match up to the speed of an elf, in an enclosed space they can definately compete. The short second Legolas had faltered and shot an arrow to save his best friend, cost him dearly. The Wargs were suddenly upon him, giving him no more time to aid Aragorn.  
  
In such a small space, the pathway not being all that broad and the dense trees surrounding it acting like a dark wall, the wolves could not both attack at once. Legolas threw his bow to safety, it not being suibtable for such close-quarters work, and whipped out his long white battle-knives. The first Warg came at him, coarse fur mane bristled into spikes and livid yellow eyes wild, and the elven prince jumped upwards and over him, high into the air, avoiding the first onslaught of gnashing fangs by only the skin of his teeth. By leaping clean over the first Warg, however, he landed directly in the path of the second.  
  
"Not good!" he cried out at no one, green eyes wide, and he swiped both knives around instinctively in the same direction, unintentionally slashing the evil creature across his snout. It worked though, and the Warg howled and jerked backwards, giving Legolas a clean shot at his exposed throat. Legolas took the opportunity to delve both knives up to their hilts into the wolf's neck at an upward angle that guarenteed most damage to be done. He grimaced as a flood of dark red blood gushed freely over his hands, and he let go of both knives as the Warg slumped downwards; the force would have snapped both his wrists had he held on any longer.  
  
In hindsight, this was not a wise move - Legolas had almost forgotten that there was another Warg merely a few yards behind him.  
  
As it was he turned to see the foul beast charging straight at him - none of the other weapons he kept strapped to his person would be any good for such a thing, nor would the bow he had just picked up from the place he had flung it, and so he backed away as far as he could, until his back met a tree behind him. He cast his eyes around desperately for some other weapon, wishing he had not left his sword at the palace - believing this to just be a walk in the woods, how wrong he was. His eyes fell upon the fallen shape of Aragorn.  
  
"Estel!" he cried out, "Estel, *help*!!!" He brought he bow across his chest as the Warg barrelled into him, knocking the wind completely out of him as he slammed into the ground at the foot of the tree, straight on his back. Legolas used his bow to fend of the snapping, snarling jaws for as long as physically possible, but his arms shook slightly with the strain, and the jaws drew closer and closer to his face no matter how much he pushed against them. "*Estel!*" he hollered in desperation again, as the Warg suddenly bit straight through his beautiful bow, splintering into a thousand pieces and destroying the only defence the elf had left.  
  
Legolas flung his arm up to shield his head as the beast lunged for him, and consequently the huge fangs of the Warg plunged straight into the flesh of the top of his right arm and his shoulder, ripping and tearing away skin, flesh and muscle till the jaws actually gripped the bone. Legolas screamed in agony he could not control as the Warg began to pull away at once and try to unstick it's fangs from where they had caught in the bone of his arm. The beast finally freed itself from Legolas' body part, snapping it uncleanly. The Warg backed up a step, and then launched itself once more, and Legolas was helpless to stop him.  
  
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What did you think? Should I bother continuing with action or shall I stick to my good ol' angst and inward feelings? Review and let me know! 


	2. Wargs

A/N: Thankyou to everyone who urged me to continue! A special mention to Elfmage, as you added me... you're way too kind... but I do give my rewards! =) And also to marbienl - there is not lot of 'Estel-pain' in this chapter, but I promise you it's coming up! Stick with it!  
  
Don't get me wrong, the rest of you are also *much* appreciated and have spurred me on to write this sooner than I have with my other ongoing story - so I now am preparing myself to face the onslaught of rabid Star Wars fans.  
  
The things I do for you folks, honestly... actually, it's not all your fault; I have just this very minute finished slogging through my *huge*, fully-detailed, amazingly boring history essay on the main factors that combined to ensure the economic boom in America reached it's fullest potential in the socially revolutionary and industrially wealthy times of the 1920's... I can see you all sleeping already, imagine what it's like to have been writing it LONGHAND *all night*! Grrrr... I'm not even American! Mind you, English history from around that time is a lot duller... so, I suppose... I am, however, rather impressed with my own self-control and maturity in regards to this coursework and am feeling rather superior - I passed on the chance to go out and have a whole lot of fun tonight, knowing that I would have this to do... mature, no?  
  
Though, had I had the foresight and organised myself, I probably could have done this stupid essay yesterday and early tonight, and then still gone out.... hmmm.... it's amazing how short a time it takes to bring oneself back down to earth, isn't it?  
  
Sorry! Went completely off on a tangent there (= note Maths coursework terms creeping in! I'm losing my mind, seriously!), but felt the need to spout out a rant. All done now...  
  
*Anyways*, here we go, hope you like - bear in mind that it was written with only the leftovers of the mush that is my brain now...  
  
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Aragorn felt as though he were swimming in mud, his mind sluggish along with his body. For some odd reason, nothing would connect with anything else - his mind and his body, his eyes and the world around him - he couldn't piece together the necessary command over himself that he had usually. The only thing that stopped him slipping once more into the peaceful unawarness the mud promised him sweetly was a queer sense of urgency he felt. It twisted his heart and coiled his stomach, wrenching him steadily away from his unconsciousness, back to the cold, harsh reality of the world again, for reasons unknown.  
  
The ranger's eyes shifted beneath their lids as snowflakes fell softly upon them, and he brought a hand up to the back of his dark head before he'd even fully awoken. There was something warm and sticky there which hurt to press. Aragorn frowned, eyes still closed, but he would have been quite happy to disregard this temporarily-bewildering fact and stay in his half- aware world for some time longer, had it not been for the desperate, panicked cry of "Estel!" that reached his ears, a very familiar voice having shouted it.  
  
The ranger's grey eyes immediately snapped open, their black pupils shrinking to mere pin points with the sudden light that assaulted them, but he ignored both this stabbing pain and the throbbing one that exploded at the back of his head, as he heard, "Estel, *help*!!!", confirming the terror that had just flared in his heart.  
  
Legolas. Legolas was in trouble. The Wargs!  
  
"*Estel!*"  
  
This new, terrifying train of thought surged Aragorn unsteadily to his feet along with the yell that was frightened, more so than any of the others had been, and he whirled, desperate to help his best friend. His heart stopped beating for a sudden second: he thought he was too late. All he could see was the Warg's vast back, and beneath it the long legs of Legolas. Then he heard Legolas scream, and that agonising sound, painful for his ears to hear, jolted both his heart to start once more and his body to shift without his mind's command.  
  
In one fluid movement, he picked up his sword from where it had been swatted to the floor earlier, and ran straight at the Warg. He sunk the weapon up to it's ornate hilt into the monster's back and through his chest, finally killing the foul beast - something he would never have been able to do if the wolf had not been so completely intent upon ripping out Legolas' throat.  
  
The Warg slumped heavily on top of the elf, who's screams died to a hoarse groans, the pain of the beast's considerable, full weight pressing down upon his shattered arm steadily becoming too much for him - he wasn't all that far from completely blacking out. Aragorn, meanwhile, immediately began to struggle with the carcass, throwing himself against it to try and budge it and get to his best friend - he succeeded, and the Warg's body began to slide off of the elf trapped beneath it with a sickening squelching sound, the blood still pouring from the sword's entry and exit points, flooding the snow around them, melting it and staining it a gruesome darkest-red, as well as Legolas. But as Aragorn was trying his best to desperately relieve the prince and get to him but, not yet knowing the extent of any injuries his best friend, the ranger unintentionally jarred Legolas' mauled arm. Legolas cried out in sudden, flaring agony and then swiftly lost consciousness, the suffering his wound caused overcoming him, the new surge of pain overtaking him at Estel's accidental hand.  
  
Aragorn, of course, could not know this, and was startled when Legolas screamed afresh and then suddenly went deathly still. It terrified him that he didn't know of the prince's condition - didn't know how serious it could be. He hurled the whole of his body weight against the rough side of the huge, heavy wolf in renewed passion, finally shifting it... had he not been so worried about his best friend, he would have remarked to the air about him the damned Wargs were as much trouble dead as they were alive. As it was, he was at Legolas' side in a bolt of lightening.  
  
His slate-hued eyes widened as soon as he took in the extent of his best friend's injury; the elf was covered in blood, and not only the Warg's blackly-red fluid, for the bright, vivid red blood of Elves was present all about Legolas' unconscious form and in the laying snow about them. But that was not what troubled Aragorn - what worried him greatly, aside from the fact that his best friend had blacked out (something that was highly irregular for him, even with the worst of his injuries... it was an onrunning joke that Aragorn was usually the one who was knocked out), was the state of the top of Legolas' right arm and shoulder. It was completely torn apart, the skin around the wound in tatters, jagged puncture marks in the flesh around the shoulder with the Warg's fangs had gripped and then lacerated the tissue, and the muscles had obviously been ripped cruelly away from where they joined to the bone... and the bone - this is what made Aragorn, for all his healing experience and the things he'd already seen, feel more than a little queasy - the bone in the top of Legolas' arm was jutting out through the wound, clearly visible, a stark white contrasting against the vast amounts of blood there. Splinters of bone were working their way deeper and deeper into the torn muscles about the break, causing even more damage.  
  
Aragorn shook his dark head, heart tightened in anxiousness - they had to leave this place; the smell of blood would surely draw more of the foul Wargs to this dark place, where they would proceed to devour the remains of their brethren. And if Aragorn and Legolas were still there, they would surely be ripped completely apart by more than half a dozen snapping, snarling jaws. They had to shift. Aragorn did not much fancy carrying his best friend, though would certainly do so if he had been his usual self, he only deferred because he was feeling very faint and dizzy himself... he surmised that he probably had a concussion, probably something to do with the force the back of his head connected with the tree he had been slammed into, and the veritable *crack* he had heard. He feared that if he attempted to carry Legolas, he would drop him - and that was entirely what he wished *not* to do.  
  
So instead he tried the simplest thing, though knowing it would not work, and leant over the unconscious elf, laying a hand upon Legolas' pale forehead as if just a mere touch would wake him. He had not even tried to heal his best friend and draw him mentally from the place in his mind where his spirit had fled to, when the prince's brilliant green eyes fluttered open of their own accord. Aragorn's heart leapt, and he snatched his hand away immediately, "Legolas! Are you well, mellon nin?" He realised only after he had spoken the words how ridiculous this question was.  
  
Legolas, despite the waves of pain he was struggling against, managed to shoot him a wry, if weak, grin, which served to ease the ranger's heart immensely. "Estel?" he began groggily, voice unusually patronising, teeth gritted as a defence against the sea of pain he felt himself caught up and tossed about in, "Would you like to rephrase that?"  
  
Aragorn chuckled softly, expression warm; only with that joke and smile had he known Legolas to be alright. "Well, I see... if you can afford to insult me, you must be better than I thought," he grinned, moving to the injured elf's left side and beginning to help him to his unsteady feet. His heart still thumped anxiousness through him with every beat, but at that moment he needed to get both Legolas and himself away from the dangerous site.  
  
"Did you expect any less of me, Estel?" Legolas raised one golden brow, trying to deepen his breath so he was not rasping the short gasps he seemed to be at that moment.  
  
"Not really," the ranger shot back lightly as though not at all concerned, one arm around the elf's slender waist, the other gripping his uninjured shoulder tightly. "We have to distance ourselves from this place... once we get to a safe shelter, I can see to your arm - I believe I have some numbing herbs in my pack, hopefully they will help you slightly... Legolas!" The elf had swayed heavily and leaned into Aragorn's supporting shoulder all of a sudden; when the elf had stood, however gingerly he climbed to his feet and however carefully he carried himself, the weight of his forearm and hand had pulled agonisingly down upon the wound and broken bone in his arm, making brightly-hued spots appear and dance in front of his eyes.  
  
Legolas, recovering himself quickly and living up once more to his proud nature, waved away his best friend's concern with his slender left hand, "I am fine, Estel, do not worry about me... let's get to the shelter, evening is on it's way." Indeed it was, the snow clouds had darkened the skies dramatically, but there was no disguising the fall of a cold night, as this one promised fully to be.  
  
And so the pair ventured forth... had either of them been their usual selves, they would have had a laugh at each other and themselves, at the way they made their way down the snow-hidden path; both leaned fairly heavily upon one another, so they were walking at an almost-diagonally angle, heads together and feet bracing their weight. It was an odd postion, but it worked for both of them, they were both injured and weary and wished to find shelter as soon as possible, so there were no qualms about however they did it.  
  
A thick snow coverlet lay immediately over the footprint's Aragorn's heavy boots had made in the fresh snow, hiding it, and filled in the slight indentation that Legolas' soft-shoe clad feet had pressed into the now- white path, so they left no tracks behind them as they sought a place to spend the night.  
  
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*Please* review... I am both sleep and coffee deprived, and full of usless facts about the American economic boom of the 1920's... and I need something to urge my brain to reassemble itself! 


	3. Ice

A/N: A very subdued hello to you all - I have the flu and am currently miserable... I managed to time it somehow that I started feeling ill on the LAST DAY OF SCHOOL!!!! Grrrrr, stupid immune system - now, one of the first times I actually *want* to do some work and catch up in the hopes of getting ahead during the week-long holiday, I'm so ill I can barely hold a pen, let alone do any of my vast pile of two sets of art coursework. Writing this cheers me up, though, despite the fact I keep coughing over the keyboard... yuck.  
  
Anyway, thankyou so much for you belting reviews, you're a very passionate bunch, aren't you? Or at least, very involved in the storyline already... which can only be a good thing!  
  
marbienl: That is a very interesting point - would the elves know what to do about Aragorn's teenage years? I reckon they would, Elrond especially as he is one of the wisest beings on Middle-earth... plus, I don't think that Estel would be all *that* bad, Aragorn seems far too serious to have had temper tantrums, yelling fits, cranky periods etc. in his past - he was raised by Elves after all. I've always thought of Wargs as big wolves, even when TT was released - and that's why I've described them as such! And there's no use threatening me with you pet spider neither, I'm afraid that our pair are in for a tough time, and no amount of intimidation can change it!  
  
elfmage: You are quite possibly the kindest reviewer I have ever had! I am so glad you are enjoying this story and thankyou so much for your reviews. Keep writing them! They give me a lift!  
  
Star-Stallion: You just wait, my friend. Don't worry about you SAT's, seriously everyone always gets really worked up about them, and they really mean pish - they don't mean anything at all. After you've got them over with, though, do everything *THE MOMENT* you get it, or you'll end up like me, scrabbling around in the last year trying to do all  
the stuff I should done the year before *as well* as revising. Can you tell I'm not the most organised of people?  
  
Rose: I'm sorry about the fairly graphic description, I was just trying to get across how nasty it was... looks like I succeeded!  
  
Thankyou to everyone who took the time to review, there isn't enough space on here to acknowledge you all, but you are greatly appreciated! I read and keep every one of your reviews. But what's this thing ya'll have with Estel having his skull fractured or concussion? No no, I'm afraid I've gone for a far less predictable approach - in fact, a completely unpredictable one as I only had the idea this morning, a lightening bolt of potential flashing it's way through my hazy, highly-temperatured mind. I had to re-write a whole section of this, though. Hmmmm....  
  
Hope you like, tell me what you think! And btw, the elvish I use in all my stories is a collection of actual elvish words, words taken from other stories and authors, and ones I have made up simply because I need to... there are no genuine sentance structures etc. to be found within a mile of me - apologies to all you purists out there, but I'm just not clever enough to decipher or write elvish! It's not gonna be a large part of the story, though, so...  
  
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Legolas and Aragorn kept going on into the early night - they had been walking for some time now, but still hadn't found anywhere they could call a shelter. The snow was falling thick and fast in the darkness about them, it shortened their vision and it clung to their hair and made their breath smoke in the sharply-cold air around them. They were cold, weak and miserable.  
  
"Well, despite being as much fun as it has been, Estel, I doubt I'll be letting you talk me into any more walks for quite some time," Legolas called out weakly, trying to keep both of their spirits up with and ignore the huge, angry pain swiftly taking over his whole right side, making him gasp for breath. Aragorn's promise of numbing herbs once they reached a place of shelter was looking increasingly inviting.  
  
Aragorn, his faintness having left him but still contending with a rather formidable headache, was walking further ahead - peering valiantly into the sheeting snow to try and spot some sort of hole or cave they could crawl into, if just for a short time. Anything to get them out of the snow storm. He turned his dark head and shot his best friend a rougish grin, ever amused despite their unfortunate situation, "But what would light up your dull life then, I ask you?" he shouted.  
  
"I doubt this is the sort of 'light' my life needs, mellon nin," Legolas grumbled half-heartedly, more to himself than Aragorn, shifting the right hand that he clutched to his chest ever so slightly, trying to keep the weight of his arm from pulling down on his wound, but still wincing a bit as he did so.  
  
The ranger heard this and, though it made him smile, he felt a twinge of guilt affect his heart: the prince was in a lot of pain - he was too proud to say ought of his suffering, and tried bravely to carry on as though normal, but Aragorn knew through long years of experience when Greenleaf was hiding something. Not only that but Aragorn thought it to be largely his own fault. *He* had been the one to be knocked out during the first minute or so of battle, rendering him useless to his best friend, who had consequently been forced to fight two Wargs on his own - the only reason Legolas had gotten the injury at all, Aragorn believed, was that his concentration had broken in order for him to save Aragorn. This was a terrible guilt that the seventeen-year old carried around with him, but he was quite determined to carry it until Legolas was safe... and probably for a while longer after that.  
  
His slate-grey eyes nearly popped straight out of his head when he thought he saw something in the distance... It was a cave! Finally, some shelter! He cried out with glee, shooting a typically-triumphant smile back at Legolas who merely rolled his eyes with mock-vexation, and the ranger began to run to the gap between a pile of vast boulders, covering the short distance fairly swiftly.... without warning he landed with a *THUD* flat on his arse.  
  
Aragorn quickly scrambled up once more and pulled his clothing straight, picking up his weapons from the previously-hidden ice he had slipped upon, rugged face immediately flushing a bright, unbecoming scarlet - his embarrassment was made all the worse by Legolas' hysterical laughter... the elf had seen everything, every flailing limb and every surprised curse- word. The ranger appeared to be trying to figure out the sequence of events that had led him to be gazing up at the snow as it came down and met his upturned face. "It's not funny, elf," Aragorn muttered, rubbing at his sore behind and glaring darkly at the prince, who was hunched over in his helplessness.  
  
"Oh, Estel! I beg to differ...!" gasped Legolas between howls, golden head thrown back in amusement, laughing into the downpouring snow. Legolas' laughter was not a rare thing, especially in comparison to the large majority of typical Mirkwood Elves, but it was still a joy to hear and it made Aragorn grin despite his smarting bum. "You should have seen your face, mellon nin... when we get back to the palace I am going to ask Niandias to paint a portrait of such a scene - it shall hang in the corridor outside my room forever! It will brighten my every morning!" The elven prince's eyes twinkled with mirth as he watched Aragorn attempt to move across the ice again.  
  
"This is a lot harder than it looks, Legolas," Aragorn groused half- heartedly as he gingerly placed a foot softly onto the ice to his right and wobbled a bit when his usual sense of balance left him. It was a very disorientating feeling to have all of one's infamous talents leave you suddenly, which Aragorn wasn't sure he liked all that much. Eventually he got the hang of walking upon the slippery silver surface, and even began to skate a little, showing off in his confidence - granted there were a few tumbles...  
  
"You have all the grace of your race, Estel," Legolas called out merrily as the young northerner began picking himself up once more, after a particularly spectacular fall, from the cold ice. The elf himself had now begun to venture forth across the formidable terrain, a lot more elegantly than Aragorn had even thought was possible - despite a broken arm, the archer's balance remained impeccable. Which was distinctly unfair in the ranger's eyes.  
  
Aragorn swiveled on his heels, arms flapping a little as he tried successfully to stay upright, "In this case, I shall take that as a compliment." And with that, he skated forwards once more, balancing his weight on one foot temporarily as the worn leather skidded across the frozen water, arms stuck out at each side, as if he could really catch something if he fell again.  
  
This is how Legolas saw his best friend disappear under the surface of the ice.  
  
The ice broke beneath the pressure of Aragorn's foot as he skated over a hidden thin patch, and he was plunged into the freezing lake beneath the ice, barely having time to call out or even register what was happening before he was submerged completely. "*ESTEL*!" Legolas yelled, and ran to the sudden-hole as though his feet were not touching the icy ground, desperate to reach his friend. His heart was pounding in terror - a human could not survive such formidable temperatures. He threw himself onto his left side on the fragmented bit of ice where he had last seen the ranger, the ice did not break or even crack under his weight, but he cried out as the hard jolt to his body jarred the two parts of the bone in his arm together agonisingly. Ignoring this, he thrust his good arm up to the shoulder into the icy water, searching anxiously for the body of his best friend. His heart leapt into his throat when his fingers just brushed against something sinking downwards, and without any thought, pulled himself up to the hole and plunged his head and good arm into the winter lake.  
  
The cold was like a million horses kicking him in the chest, and it almost made him black out with the sheer shock, but he ignored both that unpleasant feeling, and the fire that burned in right shoulder above the ice as the wound was ripped just that little bit more - he *had* to find Aragorn. He opened his eyes despite the feeling that there was a thousand pins sticking repeatedly into them, and saw the sinking shape. The cold had knocked the mortal unconscious, as it had nearly done with the elf himself, and his head was lolling sickeningly, but Legolas pushed himself and strained that little bit further, the bubbles from his screams as his wound was torn and knocked breaking the surface of the water just beneath the level of the ice. He finally managed to snag the back of the ranger's tunic, and used all his strength to haul the dead weight back up to the surface.  
  
Legolas' mind was full of dark thoughts, and he found himself wondering what temperatures Men could stand, and how long they could go without air. Still with his head and arm underwater, he edged himself backwards onto more secure ice before he pulled them both up, if the ice broke again it would be even more of a nightmare. Slowly, using all of his ebbing strength, he managed to pull them both up out of the water and onto solid ice. Aragorn's eyes were still closed, and his lips had turned a foreboding blue colour - Legolas could see no sign of life in his features. The man was still breathing, though, his worryingly shallow outbreaths clouding in the air, and when the elf checked for his pulse, he found it easily, though it was more than a little slow.  
  
Deciding that the best thing to do was to get his best friend warm as soon as possible, Legolas hauled the unconscious ranger up, and hefted him onto his good left shoulder single-handedly, and staggered across the ice to the hole between the boulders, heart jumping at every crack and popping sound made beneath his feet. He got them to the cave with, thankfully, no further incidents, and struggled to get them both inside of it. He pulled Aragorn way back into the fairly narrow recess, as far away as possible from the icy wind and snow and, one handed, proceeded to strip the sodden clothes from the ranger, knowing prolonged exposure to be almost as dangerous as shock in instances such as these.  
  
"Come on, Estel... I need for you to wake up for me, mellon nin... tirven me [wake up]..." he murmured anxiously as, finished with Aragorn, he began to pull off his own, relatively dry clothes and instead put them on his best friend, replacing them with the wet ones. Elves were not sensitive to their climate, unless it were in it's extreme, but even Legolas felt the chill as he pulled on the freezing items, but Aragorn needed dry clothes more than he was bothered by cold, wet ones, so he did not think of it further. He pleaded with his best friend's inert form as he finished pulling on the clothing that was too big for him, "I *need* you to wake up: I need for you to come back to me, Estel..."  
  
But Aragorn was still not waking up.  
  
"Estel! Come on, come back to me!" Legolas, suddenly quite near hysterics, cried and, ignoring his injured arm completely, began rubbing the rangers body with his one good hand to try and heat it with friction, even if only a little. "Come on, Estel! Wake up! Tirven me!" he yelled in desperation, angry at himself for not being able to help more, chaffing the man's torso and legs - if he lost Aragorn... He worked and worked all the way up and down Estel's body, almost in a frenzy, till sweat even started to drip from his furrowed brow and the air around him became warm, but he did not even think about resting until the blue colour had begun to receede from his best friend's lips and nails. The ranger's unconscious form had begun shivering, but Legolas couldn't tell if that was a good thing or not - he hoped it was good, that the man had come away from death's door. Then he knelt, utterly fatigued, and patted the ranger on the cheek, triumphant to find it at almost body temperature again, instead of like frost. His labours seemed to have worked! "Estel? Are you able to wake? *Valu* tirven [*please* wake]..." he called gently, watching the still face like a hawk for any sign of consciousness.  
  
The man's eyelids fluttered slightly in answer, and he breathed in deeply, beginning to wake. Legolas felt like crying in his relief, and he thanked Iluvatar repeatedly under his breath as he sank back onto his heels, head angled up at the stone ceiling above him and chest heaving.  
  
Aragorn's spirit emerged tentatively from the dark recesses of his mind for the second time that night, and he opened his eyes slowly. He didn't feel hurt or anything, just very cold. He was confused and surprised to find his best friend sitting over him, his small frame swamped in Aragorn's own clothes, made for a larger and broader person... and they were wet. Why was Legolas wearing his clothes? Why were they wet? He wondered what must have happened... and also whether he, himself, was wearing any clothes, and if he was, who's were they... and were they wet? Unable to make his mind process this confusing train of thought, he sat up, shaking limbs groggy and unwilling to be commanded by his mind for some unknown reason. He felt very, very cold.  
  
"Wh-What happened?" he stuttered weakly, teeth chattering of their own accord. He was rewarded with Legolas looking at him with golden brows raised and mouth hanging slightly open, brilliant green eyes wide and shining... the elf looked more than a little unhinged - it was really quite alarming. This notion was compounded in Aragorn's mind when the elven prince suddenly barrelled into him, embracing him with one arm so tightly that Aragorn thought his eyes might pop from their sockets. "Whatever is the matter with you, Legolas?" he wondered outloud, laying a shaking hand weakly upon the prince's narrow, wet back, still utterly bemused by the sequence of events, and utterly perplexed by his eccentric elven friend.  
  
"I almost lost you, Estel... you were so close," came Greenleaf's soft, muffled voice from where he spoke into Aragorn's soaked, dark hair. Both bodies shook, one through coldness and the other due to an enormous sense of relief and exhaustion. Legolas drew away, wide eyes still fixed as though unbelieving upon his best friend's face, and he laughed suddenly, heart gladdened and flying to giddy heights to find his best friend back with him and, apparently, uninjured. He clasped the ranger's face, much to Aragorn's continued confusion, but then after a moment seemed to collect himself and withdrew, though not uncomfortably. "You are all right, are you not?" he asked, worried suddenly that in his joy he might have missed something.  
  
"Of course," came Aragorn's ever self-confident answer. He chuckled but shivered, then flexed his arms stiffly, the green fabric of Legolas' tunic very tight on them and pulling heavily. "You know," he said as though thoughtful, "I reckon that if I tried hard enough, I could easily bust all the stitches in these," he indicated the attire he was clothed in which was not his own.  
  
Legolas laughed again, "You fell into the freezing waters, I wasn't about to try and warm you back up with you in soaked clothing, was I? Try not to break them, though - I've already lost a bow today... arda won't be best pleased with me anyway..." he trailed off, thinking.  
  
Aragorn chuckled to himself at the elf's mildly worried expression; he knew the only thing Thranduil would be when they got back was greatful they had returned at all... for all his sterness and royally-gruff manners, the King of Eryn Lasgalen was extremely protective over all of his nine children, and even their friends and extended families held shares in his large heart. Aragorn himself was the proud owner of one of those portions, and had been ever since he had been fourteen summers old - Thranduil was a second father to him now, and would be positively distraught at the state in which he and Legolas would return in. One bloodied and broken, and the other frozen and in too-small clothes.  
  
The ranger shivered again, body reminding him once more that he was chilled to the bone... a great drowsiness overtook him all of a sudden and he longed to simply slip back into his previous oblivion. He leaned back again against the cave floor and fought not to close his eyes. Legolas noticed this, and leapt to his feet, heart panicking again - he sometimes reminded Aragorn of a flapping bird or a flighty young foal in the way he went about things, especially when he was anxious, as he was now. "No! Estel, no!" he cried, waving his left hand in front of him repeatedly.  
  
"What? Stop fretting, you fool, and tell me what!" Aragorn frowned, needlessly annoyed by the elf's actions - the cold was getting to him.  
  
"You cannot go back to sleep, you mustn't!" At his best friend's still- confused expression, dark brows knitted together at the elf's non- explanatory explanation. "You could easily slip into a coma; you're still very cold and I cannot allow you to do that! I can't!"  
  
"Well, how do you suggest I stay warm *and* stay up, oh mighty healer - I *knew* I shouldn't go back to sleep already, dimwit." Aragorn felt his pride stung more than a little - he had known it, through all his training and practice as a healer of course he had known it - but it hadn't come to him just then, his freezing body temperature having driven it momentarily from his mind, and so when Legolas knew this so surely, it made him feel a bit foolish... as if *he* should have known also, which he should have.  
  
Legolas looked a little hurt at Aragorn's rough tones, but did not let it bother him and carried on, his mind lighting upon more amusing things. "Well, *I* shall just have to be the remedy on both accounts," he grinned. "I could have lots of fun with this - repay you for this ridiculous escapade of a walk you dragged me on."  
  
"Bloody marvelous," muttered Aragorn darkly.  
  
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So, it seems as though we have come to a natural pause... what do you reckon? Review please! And, if your wondering, the whole falling into the icy lake thing was the idea I had this morning! For the best? Let me know! 


	4. Sleep

A/N: Hello to all you extremely kind folks - thankyou so very *very* much for reviewing this story so much and so appreciatively... I can't believe the response it's gotten! Chuffed am I! You'll be glad to know, I am less ill now than I was (I bet I kept you up all night worrying, eh? lol)... but the fates still seem to be against me as the other day I lost my floppy disk with ALL my stories on... new chapters for the three fics I am doing right now, the beginnings of stories and chapters upon chapters of the story I was going to bring out after this one set in Mirkwood after the War of the Ring... am not a happy bunny, but there's nowt I can do about it, so...  
  
I am now going to use this space for a bit of blatent advertising, both for myself and for something very close to my heart. First, myself: all of you here who adore Aragorn/Legolas banter and friendship such as the stuff you are finding in this story, can I suggest (if you haven't already) to read my fic called 'Vignettes of the Fellowship'... though it has all the fellowship in it, I did unintentionally focus on Legolas and Aragorn by accident, and you'll see a lot of best friendmanship... if you want to get straight to it, skip chap 1 and go straight for chap 2, 'Aragorn: Lord of Impeccable Timing or Legolas: Ranger-Killer.' I have very little doubt that you will like it if you like this. And don't forget to review!  
  
Secondly, and this might not apply to anyone at all (it may be possible they've only been heard of in England), but I'm saying it anyway as am still excited... the other night I went to see this band called The Electric Soft Parade, expecting it to be a good but fairly average gig, but OH MY WORD was it amazing! *Seriously*, seek out this band, they are a stunningly talented pair of brothers and they completely blew me away. I was a row from the front of the stage in a basement which held only about 150 people - it was an extremely intimate gig - and I got pointed out by one of them who I am going to marry just as soon as I meet him properly! It was absolutely unforgetable and possibly the best gig I have been to, and not only because one of them kept leaping from the stage to the railing right in front of me and my mates - I touched them! Make it your challenge to find some music by them and listen good! I can guarentee you will be impressed.  
  
Right, now that's out my system, here's another little explosion. Personal replies to come with next chapter, sorry. Hope you enjoy  
  
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Aragorn was finally at peace - his bones no longer ached to their cores, no cold could touch him and his body was able to begin repairing itself. He drifted happily, mind blank and pain absent. Consequently, he was more than a little annoyed when he recieved a swift jab in the ribs from his best friend, quickly dragging him back into a world of freezing temperatures and the most undesirable company.  
  
"*What is your problem*?!" he snarled, whirling about in Legolas' arms to face the elf, a viscious scowl taking over his numb face.  
  
The golden-haired prince just looked at him, large green eyes cool and calm, though a little dazed, "We have been through this, Estel... more than once. You cannot be allowed to sleep." Legolas was not in the least bit intimidated by Aragorn's irate glare - he always managed to stare the human down when it came to times like this, and even when the young ranger was at his most aggravated, the Greenleaf could not be made to back down by a mere facial expression, however unhappy it was. "It is far too cold anyway - even if you hadn't managed to fall into an iced-over lake, I wouldn't be letting you sleep right now." And it was true, the breath that left Legolas' pale lips could be plainly seen hanging in the air about them - the snow was still falling heavily in the pitch blackness outside their shelter, piling up at the cave's entrance. Mirkwood was notorious for many things, and the sub-zero temperatures in winter was just one of them.  
  
Aragorn did see the logic behind his best friend's annoying actions, but it didn't mean he had to like them. He snorted and turned back again, pulling Legolas' left arm further around his shoulder, trying to draw as much heat from the elf who held him as possible. He shivered and concentrated on keeping his eyes open. He was leaning back against Legolas' chest, who was in turn leaning back against the hard stone wall of their shelter, both sets of eyes fixed on the sleeting snow beyond the cave mouth, only able to see it in the soft glow of golden light that Legolas emitted naturally. "You're a pain, you know that?" he remarked casually after a time, already his foul mood beginning to fade of it's own accord.  
  
Legolas snorted gently. "Aye, well," he returned. "Takes one to know one."  
  
His best friend laughed aloud at that - he could not see Greenleaf's face, but he could bet his boots that Legolas' grin was a baiting, expectant one. "Honest to the Valar, Legolas, you are such a child sometimes! I can give no reason why the lovely Evylenn seems to be attatched to you, especially when she could quite easily have any other elf she wanted..." The young ranger was feeling mischevious, and so was gladdened when he only had to wait a second or two for the predictable reaction.  
  
"Are you seriously *still* going on about that, Estel?" Legolas cried faintly. He emphasised his point with another quick prod in the ranger's ribs. "I keep telling you, Evy cares no more for me than she does for... for you!"  
  
The young elf-maiden they were speaking of was someone very dear to the last prince of Eryn Lasgalen. The two had known one another since being youngest elflings, growing ever closer as their years lengthened. Now, to everyone else who knew the pair, it was undeniably clear they were destined to become life-mates as they so obviously held one another's heart, but both Legolas and Evylenn seemed determined to ignore the notion that danced right in front of their faces, and had stayed best friends for many a millenia already. Aragorn had recently taken it upon himself to push the two together - for he could be no happier if two of his greatest friends finally realised their feelings for one another, as he and Arwen Evenstar had.  
  
"Ah *ha*!" Aragorn shouted in triumph, grinning as he raised a shaking finger. "Then you know she must love you more than life itself - for no beautiful maiden can resist my rougish charms... all wish to marry me, if not only for my stunningly handsome features." He upturned his chin in mock- pride, damp dark hair falling away from his shoulders.  
  
Legolas' laughter was most amused, though a little weak, "Take it easy, there, stud," he teased and rolled his eyes. "You have only one elven lady to contend with, and she is more than enough on her own to keep anyone occupied." At this, Aragorn flushed and held his tongue, looking away from the mouth of the cave, making Legolas laugh all the more mirthfully. He was the only person who knew about the elf and the man's secret love for one another, and he would die before letting anyone else learn of it... but that didn't mean he didn't tease Aragorn whenever possible about it, and Arwen, too, when he got the chance, but he was a lot more frightened by her than he was of his best friend, and so did it less.  
  
They could not know that as they were keeping one another's spirits up, keeping each other awake, their laughter and the warm, golden light Legolas let off was drawing danger closer and closer to them.  
  
"Did you hear that?" Legolas asked suddenly, smile fading at once from his ashen face. He shivered a little and turned his head to listen to the sounds of the Mirkwood night better.  
  
Aragorn seemed to have learnt his lesson from the encounter with the Wargs and immediately stilled, not moving a muscle other than those he could not help, for he still shuddered miserably from the cold. He held his breath as Legolas did, both listening with all their might. A heavy breathing could be heard from outside the cave, the sort of hot, slobbery breath that one imagined in nightmares when the monster in question was beneath your bed. Then, the thing making the awful noise came forward into their line of vision.  
  
It was a vast, black bear - it's shoulder were huge and bristling with ebony fur, it's eyes were silver and gleamed with a terrible light. But the thing the two companions were fixated most on at that exact point in time were the bear's teeth... or rather, fangs. These sharp, long, shining, fangs dripping with saliva as the creature turned it's large head to one side and trained them with one of it's silver orbs.  
  
Aragorn and Legolas could not move an inch. Even had they wanted to, they were so petrified they did not even breathe. Legolas simply drew his best friend closer to him, holding on to him so tight he thought *he* was the reason Aragorn was not breathing. The ranger's dazed grey eyes were unnaturally wide as he stared at the hulking great beast, pawing at the entrance to the cave. Surely to Valar they were not going to be put through anymore? Could they even handle it if the bear decided he might like to chew on one of them? So they sat, completely motionless, gripping onto one another tightly and hoping the bugger went away. Legolas had actually screwed up his eyes against the danger, but he would never *ever* be able to admit that he, a warrior of the very highest standard, *shut his eyes in the face of danger*. Still, at that moment he did not care.  
  
The bear looked at the creature curiously. He couldn't figure this animal out... surely it was a single being, and yet it had two opposing sides to it, one fair and one dark. It was shivering, and he could just smell the fear on it. He could also smell that it was appetising, and would be more than a bit pleasant to eat... but there seemed to be some wretchedness hanging in the air about the creature, and one of it's sides was greiviously injured. The bear paused for a moment or so, undecisive, then made up his simple mind, and backed away from the bright hollow, lumbering off into the dark to search for a more fair meal.  
  
The two 'wretched' beings kept still for a moment longer, unbelieving, until they eventually sgged, finally able to draw breath adequately again. An exhaustion overcame Legolas suddenly, the constant pain from his arm, the coldness and now the sudden fright and tension battering down the weak barriers he had constructed to try and distance himself for a little bit more. He faltered, bright spots dancing in front of his eyes as his fair head fell forward onto Aragorn's shaking shoulder. Aragorn's heart promptly leapt again from the place in his chest where it had been jumping up and down, banging against his ribs.  
  
"Legolas! Mellon nin, are you well?" again, he had not realised the stupidity of this statement until *after* the words had left his mouth. But Legolas was suddenly too far gone with pain and fatigue to even retort a jest, and this made Aragorn panick even further. He realised suddenly that he still hadn't given the elf any numbing herbs, the whole falling-into-the- ice-water-fiasco having driven it clean from his mind. No wonder his best friend was sagging now - the pain must be unbearable! "Oh, mellon nin," he murmured, twisting where he sat and stroking the prince's silken locks with one hand, while searching in the pack around his waist for his herbs with his other shaking one.  
  
"S'okay, Estel," Legolas managed to force the slurred words out of his unresponsive lips, yet still unable to lift his fair head in his tiredness, but these half-hearted words did nothing to ease Aragorn's anxiousness.  
  
"Hold on, Legolas," he muttered, still desperately seeking for the numbing herbs in his pack. He had only come across sleep-inducing ones, he held them up to the light, but no - they were the thin, chewy stems of Dragrod roots, all of them. He had to do something! There must be something he could do to ease his best friend's suffering. So he did the only thing he could, he gave Legolas the Dragrod roots.  
  
The elven archer, the world around him too dull at that moment to fully comprehend what was happening to him, chewed and swallowed them without thinking - trusting Aragorn completely and believing them to be numbing herbs as promised. Within a moment or so, his brilliant green eyes had slipped shut in his exhaustion, and he fell away into a deep sleep.  
  
Aragorn sighed, his heart beginning to beat at it's normal pace once more... there really had been nothing else for it, it had been his only choice to put his best friend to sleep. It was merely a pleasant upshot that he was now able to slumber without the prince jabbing him in the ribs to wake him up again. He knew the risks of sleeping in his frozen condition, but he was really too tired to care.  
  
He laid Legolas down gently, ever careful of his injured arm, and brushed away a golden bang gently from the archer's face. Then laying down next to him in order to draw warmth from his companion, he curled in on himself and also drifted away into the dreamless night.  
  
It was nearing dawn when the ranger faded quietly from his peaceful sleep into an unstable coma.  
  
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Please review. I am the god at cliffhangers, no? Pure evil... 


	5. Waking

A/N: Thankyou so much for your responses - both abusive and not! Mwhahahaha, I think I got the reaction I deserved. Well done to all of you who picked up on the bear thinking Aragorn and Legolas were the same being, and Legolas protecting Aragorn by drawing him closer etc etc. There's some bright sparks out there! Anyway, in this chapter you are introduced to Legolas' family. And if you like what you read, then you might want to skip over and read this other story of mine called 'Bathtime' (kudos for those who already have done) in which you learn more about all the siblings etc. and Thranduil's relationship with all his children. It's a big family, btw! If you get bored, just bear with it, because they're gonna be a part of the story later on... plus I really like the characters! Now, don;t be offended or feel neglected if I don't mention you name here - I am very thankful for all of your reviews, but if I responded to all of them, we'd never get to the story, so...  
  
Templa Otmena: I like this little niche I've found for pleasant Thranduil - I think he's just misunderstood, you know? Like, he's fairly stern as a King and masks his feelings in order to be a Royal, but then when he's with his family, he relaxes a little bit, and shows that he loves them all deeply. That's my take on it anyway! Lots more to come with that, as well!  
  
marbienl: You seriously have to stop predicting things! Pretty much bang on! Nevermind, you give me some very good ideas. I like the way you pick out a sentance or so and say that was your favourite! You'll see Thranduil as 2nd father to Estel later on, I reckon. And you'll see about Evylenn (not gonna be a romance story though, don't worry... Well, maybe... I don't know!)  
  
Nikki1: I *think* (not entirely sure, though) that 'stud' might be part of elven language... 'cause isn;t a stud a male horse or bull or something, who impregnates... *ahem*, yes well... I wasn't sure, but I stuck it in anyways because it made me laugh when I thought about it!  
  
drew'sgirl: To be honest, I had forgotten a little bit! But I reckon he'd have put his own pack etc on over the top of Legolas' clothes. I've made it clearer in this chapter, in any case.  
  
Gwyn and Shauna: Your reviews made me laugh out loud, seriously. But I'm not sure Aragorn would be happy with all the anger you've directed towards him!  
  
Anyway, story time now. Don;t forget to let me know what you think. And smile: England just beat France in Rugby World Cup semi! Well, I'm happy...  
  
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King Thranduil, ruler of Eryn Lasgalen, deftly disguised a yawn behind his hand as he strode down the corridor leading to the breakfasting room.  
  
One of the guards standing at a junction in the corridors, however, spotted him, and had to quickly wipe the smile from his fair face as his King, seeing his smirk and catching his eye, halted and looked sternly upon the guard as though in challenge, one dark eyebrow arched. The guard seemed to pale a little at this unexpected turn of events, but kept his oak-brown eyes fixed firmly ahead in determination, though knowing he had been caught out. After a moment, however, Thranduil merely laughed aloud and, shaking his dark head, carried onwards down the corridor with his original intent, not saying a word. The guard sagged against the stone wall behind him in relief as his ruler left him. It was widely known that almost all Mirkwood elves had a queer sense of humour, but it took a particular frame of mind to understand that dry wit of the fairly-eccentric Royal family, most especially their King and youngest prince.  
  
Selmanias, Head Guard and best friend to Thranduil, rolled his silver eyes and leaned forward to whisper in Thranduil's pointed ear, "My King, I advise you to really *stop* doing that - you're going to give one of them a heart-attack if you carry on."  
  
But Thranduil merely shrugged in a rather un-Kingly fashion - considering it to be far too early in the morning time for such protocol between family and close companions - and replied lightly, turning his head in answer, "Then I advise *you* to advise *them* to get used to it... they have to learn one way or another that I am merely jesting - they should know it by now in any case."  
  
"As you wish, my lord," was all the white-haired elven warrior could say to that, as usual.  
  
Thranduil nodded as though with assertiveness, knowing he had not won the argument and that Selmanias would do no such thing, yet not really minding. He pushed open the oaken-doors to the breakfasting room himself when they reached them, believing it to be arrogant to have aides carry out actions which one could do oneself... it was his idea that if at all possible, independancy should be kept as the one of the highest morals, regardless if you were prince or pauper. This is how his children had been raised, and how his realm worked.  
  
His children - or at least, those present - rose and bowed to him when he walked into the room, but he waved them down, as he always did, before seating himself at the head of the table. He did a quick scan, dark blue- grey eyes jumping from one member of the household to another, and came up short. "I count only five pretty heads - prey tell, have I misplaced some of my offspring? Namely my first daughter and my fifth and sixth sons?"  
  
The Crown Prince, Tusinduil Grownoak, grinned as he seated himself back down again and pulled himself up to the table, "Nay, Niandias and Ithilmir have merely gone to see if they can drag Legolas and Estel from their pits... they drew the short straw."  
  
"Ah," replied the King, for that answered everything, "a formidable task if any. What was the prize for the longest straw and who won it?" he was vastly interested in the workings of the minds of his children - they came to conclusions and had ideas and settled internal arguments in a manner completely foreign to him, and it amused him immensly.  
  
"Me," smiled Aricesla, holding up her hand and grinning. "And I won first dibs on food," she indicated her full plate proudly, perfect with the best egg and unusually fine and well-shaped bread roll.  
  
"I see," Thranduil nodded at his princess, then smiled as his gaze caught the figures of his twins, Arianduil and Andariun, who both sat with their arms folded, glaring at their empty plates, obviously having been ordered not to talk or complain by Tusinduil. A new rule had been placed by Fienngil, the second prince, only last week that the twins were to fill their plates up last at mealtimes - it was a definate scramble to find food when there are nine hungry princes and princesses around the table, and the pair of princes could be counted on for being less polite than others and grabbing the largest amount of food in the least amount of time - and Fienngil was tired of getting mishappen leftovers, and no one argued with Fienngil when he made a declaration. The warrior himself glanced to his father, and grinned widely, his deep blue eyes flashing merrily, happy that his threat was being abided.  
  
And so the family started to eat, trusting that the others would join them when they were able. A heated discussion over whether Fienngil should let Arianduil and Andariun begin eating had just broken out - for the twins had been waiting a long time and no one could stand it when they used their puppy-dog eyes and Esladiya, who had their mother's heart, felt they may have learnt their lessons - when the oaken doors opened once more. Thranduil looked up to see his eldest princess grace the room, accompanied by her younger sibling who strode at her side. He raised a brow in question, unable to read his children's expressions which was unusual.  
  
"Adar," began Niandias, smiling at the oddity of it all, "We were unable to find either Legolas or Estel; they weren't in their rooms."  
  
The King put down his fork and watched as the two seated themselves at the table, and began helping themselves to breakfast. "Well, where else could they be? Surely to Valar they haven't gone out hunting or causing trouble already: it's far too early, especially for the pair of them."  
  
"Have you checked the courtyard?" asked Andariun with a sly grin, "That's where we found them last time... granted, they'd had a lot of wine, but still..." He chuckled as, breaking the rules and ignoring the sharp glare directed his way by Fienngil, he reached for a bread roll, "You know what they're like, I shouldn't worry."  
  
"Having said that," added Esladiya softly, looking at her father, a touch of anxiousness colouring her light grey gaze, "I didn't see nor hear of them at all for the whole of last night."  
  
"Which is vaugely impossible under normal circumstances," finished Arianduil helpfully, nabbing the last sausage rebeliously.  
  
Aricesla looked from one sibling to another as they spoke, then found her own voice, "I think it nothing, but if it will ease you, we can go and look for them... they're bound to be about somewhere."  
  
"Wait," said Fienngil, pulling his feet down from his chair and sitting up straight, piercing his family with a dark look. "Didn't Estel say something about taking a walk yesterday morn? He was going to show Legolas how well he was coming along in developing his skills as a ranger... you don't think anything might have... caught them up, and they haven't returned yet?"  
  
Tusinduil exchanged a glance with his father and closest brother, and an uneasy silence fell about the table as they thought on. It was a definate possibility, and Mirkwood was a dangerous place, especially at this time of year Even Selmanias and other guards shifted nervously about the room. This silence was only broken by Ithilmir, who had not yet said anything, speaking up quietly.  
  
"It snowed last night," he said.  
  
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Legolas woke up with a start, feeling as though someone was trying to smother him. Something was pulling at him, twisting his body and obscuring his vision, there were hands wrapping themselves about his neck. He began to panic, and fought to free himself from these unknown bonds, only to find that it was merely Aragorn's long coat which he was still wearing - the wayward piece of clothing had become twisted about his neck and face, and the clothes several sizes too big for him underneath were wrapped in a most odd and uncomfortable manner about his body.  
  
Feeling slightly floolish, he struggled to untangle himself, and at last sat up, triumphant with Aragorn's clothes in order. He was overcome with dizziness for a moment, and reached out a hand to keep himself upright. For a moment, he was confused and couldn't figure out where he was or why he was there, but then it all came rushing back to him, along with the pain in his right arm. The prince didn't even look at the gruesome wound, though, as he wished to push it as far as possible from his mind. Also, something didn't feel right, he knew there was something else to all this, but for the life of him he couldn't figure out what. Then his heart leapt up against his windpipe.  
  
Aragorn. Where was Aragorn?  
  
He looked around wildly and found his friend to be lying right beside him, asleep. Asleep! Legolas quickly pulled Aragorn onto his back, not knowing what to expect but wishing it was not what he believed it to be. But it was, Aragorn was not moving.  
  
Legolas swiftly bent over the young ranger, holding his own breath, and put his pointed ear to Aragorn's mouth - he was utterly relieved to find a small amount of warm, shallow breath tickling him. The man was still breathing, thank the Valar. But he was asleep, and Legolas couldn't believe he'd let him sink into a slumber. He shook Aragorn by the shoulders, hoping with all his heart that he woke up... but Aragorn's dark eyelashes didn't even flutter, and Legolas called out to him. "Tirven me [wake up], Estel!" But it was no use, for Legolas knew it was no mere deep sleep that Aragorn had drifted into - it was a coma. As he knew the ranger would had he been allowed to sleep. And Legolas had allowed it.  
  
A horrid wave of guilt came over the Mirkwood royal and he dropped his hands from the still shoulders; he'd allowed it. This was *his* fault, he'd been overcome with his own injury, and now his best friend was paying the price for his selfishness. He couldn't believe he had fallen asleep, enabling the northerner to do so! It made him feel utterly wretched. Legolas knew if he didn't get Aragorn warm soon, the ranger might never wake up, and he couldn't bear to even think about such a thing, but he knew it would break his heart.  
  
So he got to his feet, his annoyance spreading when he found he was unable to push the baggy sleeves of Aragorn's coat up to his elbows and stop them from flapping and getting in his way, his right arm was useless, and too painful. So instead he thought about what he might do: it seemed as though they'd been snowed in during the night, for the snow had piled up at the entrance to the cave, making a thick door. Legolas realised that first he would have to shift this obstruction, and the only way he was going to be able to do so would be to barge a pathway through it. So he squared up, his left shoulder lying against the wall of snow, and he pushed with all his might, the snow making satisfying creaking noises as he compressed it. But, other than covering himself with snow and flattening his side of the pile up, he didn't even make a dint in the snow. Sighing gustily, and pushing a stray golden bang from out of his eyes, he began to claw at the compacted snow, smiling a little as he thought of what Aragorn might say about 'weak, dainty elves' had he been watching Legolas' pathetic attempt at barging.  
  
He worked hard, until his forehead was hot and his fingers ice cold, and finally succeeded in making a little window in the wall. When Legolas looked at this window, he realised why he had been unable to shift the obstruction easily; the snow had been piled up to the length of a forearm in width! When it snowed in Mirkwood, it *really* snowed.  
  
He thrust his left arm through this hole, and waved it about, easing more and more into the hole, till his shoulder was widening the gap. Then he shifted position, and began clawing at the snow a little below his previous window. It was extremely tedious work, but it was the only way he was going to get them both out of there. Soon, there was a line of these little holes, distanced in a regular pattern down the wall. Legolas concluded that it would be a lot of fun (despite his and Aragorn's current situation) and fairly effective if he just kicked himself out. So he laid back, aiming at the centre of the line of holes, and booted it with his foot. It worked, and there was a minor explosion of snow, a creak, and then a mini-avalanche in which Legolas himself got absolutely covered with coldness, and suddenly he was faced with blissful sunshine, streaming into the cave and illuminating them both.  
  
He sighed, proud of this at least, and carefully dragged Aragorn out into the open. He was faced with a veritable winter-wonderland, the snow-clad trees glittering with the bright sunshine, the icicles looking beautiful as they frosted over in the still-cold weather. Even the evil lake which Aragorn had fallen into looked gorgeous, the ice seeming to have captured the shift in the waters beneath in it's icy covering. Legolas sighed, his breath smoking in the sharp air, and almost seemed to find peace within himself: there were sometimes when Mirkwood was almost-recognisable as Greenwood the Great. But then he looked down at Aragorn, and his heart chilled, and a cold slab of guilt formed in the back of his throat.  
  
He tried his hardest to ignore the awful feeling that threatened to overwhelm him, and pulled Aragorn's inert form up and onto his good shoulder, and began staggering into the wilderness. The snow began to fall once more as he set off, intent on getting his best friend to safety.  
  
He walked and walked, the change in the landscape and trees around him being an indication of just how far. Only when his legs began to shake violently, and his breath began to wheeze in his chest did Legolas realise he could not go on any further. It sickened him to think so, but he just knew he was going to give up soon. Even so, he felt disgusted with himself when he stumbled and fell to the snow-covered ground, once more jarring his agonising right side. His head was swimming, and he had difficulty stringing thoughts together. He pulled Aragorn into a comfortable position on his back, and bent over him unsteadily. "Estel, I'm so sorry... s-sorry I didn't stay awake... Estel..." he found he did not have the breath to say anything further, and so let his head fall onto Aragorn's chest as he knelt over him, believing that that way he would be able to give heat to the unconscious ranger.  
  
He slipped away from the world as his best friend had.  
  
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Was going to make this a really long chapter... but seeing as you're all desperate, I'm leaving it on a mini-cliff. Mwahaha! Please review... what do you think of Legolas' family? 


	6. Breath

A/N: Aha, you're all belting and I do adore the lot of you! It was a relatively mini-cliff, not a patch on the previous one, I thought. You're gonna be seeing Legolas' family for the rest of the fic, I reckon. Apologies if you don't like them (cheers to all of you who let me know you did) - but I adore them all, and made up their characters and personalities etc. all by me onesies... they come straight from the heart and so how can I not love them? Plus, it could possibly interest you to know that a fair few are based upon mates and family members of mine... dead sneaky, no?  
  
Sorry this has been a long time coming - I'm doing history coursework AGAIN! Hurrah! Now I have six essay question on ten sources about, wait for it.... *prohibition*. I am being run into the ground over history of a country which is not my own! I believe that's a tad unfair. Mind you, the stuff about Al Capone's pretty belting, and we did get to watch the original of 'Scarface', which is class, so perhaps it's not all bad. However, I am taking my mind from comparing sources by writing to you lovely people, and also looking forward to going out to see this mint band called 'King Adora', which is the only reason I'm doing this coursework now, so that I don't have to do it before going to see them!  
  
Jebb: That's a truly inspired idea! I so didn't think of that at all! We'll see... that's if they ever get back to the palace in one piece. Perhaps they'll be too injured...  
  
Gwyn: I am proud to be a member of the '*Anti-Evil! Thranduil Campaign*'! He may be stern on the outside, but he loves his children to bits... plus, I love writing his character, I have so much fun with it. You'll definately see him in later chapters - I can;t keep away from him!  
  
Nikki1: No way is Legolas spoilt rotten! He may be the youngest, but I was trying to put across the idea that the royal family of Mirkwood prefer to do things for themselves, and not have servents wait on them all that much. That's why four of the sons are warriors [Legolas, Arianduil, Andariun and Fienngil] and one of them is a elfling tutor [Niandias - those of you who've read 'Bathtime' like I suggested will know this! See, it pays to take my advice!]. Legolas has to hold his own in such an enviroment, you know!  
  
Shauna: Your last three reviews have been very aggressive towards poor Aragorn. Give him a break, he's knackered! He fell in a freezing lake - I reckon you'd be pretty exhausted and all! Lol. Your reviews amuse me a lot. Oh, we know they are going to live, do we? *raises eyebrow* I've got a good mind to kill them off just for your cheek, miss! Lol.  
  
Templa Otmena: *blushes* That's far too nice. When it comes to reviews you can never go overboard! Thankyou so very much for such appreciative reviews.  
  
Anyway, enough of this nonsense! On with the show!  
  
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Fienngil Morningstar tried not to let his heart race as he rode through the snow-ladden forest, but he could not help his mind from drifting through dark possibilities of whatever could have happened to his brother and friend as he traveled through the driving snow.  
  
Once it had been affirmed that Legolas and Estel were nowhere in the palace or surrounding woods - sleeping off a hangover or secretly making nuisances of themselves - companies of guards and individual warriors had been sent out with the intention of scouring Mirkwood until the lost souls were found. The twins were riding in one, and even Ithilmir and Esladiya (who were not warriors in the least) had insisted they joined the parties, bringing along Legolas' three hounds - Blaith, Aklar and Silme [Spirit, Glory and Light], who knew the scent of their master without qualm.  
  
Sadly, neither the King or Tusinduil were able to get away from the palace, something which the Crown Prince regretted deeply and Thranduil had been irate over until Fienngil had promised him they would return with their brother and guest safe and sound. Aricelsa was still maintaining that there would be nothing to worry about, and though Niandias wished dearly to aide her siblings, she could not come away from teaching her elflings. Nevertheless, at least two dozen warriors and guards had been dispatched.  
  
Now, however, the difficulty of their task had dawned on them - trying to find two beings in the vastness of Eryn Lasgalen was like trying to find a needle in a particularly large and vengeful haystack, and if the two beings were incapacitated in some way...  
  
Fienngil shook his head firmly, loose light-brown hair flying in front of his face - he would not permit himself to think of such a thing. But wait... when Fienngil had quietened the thoughts whirling in his head, his sharp ears had caught a whisper of something. He could not quite figure out what it was, and he pulled on the reins, bringing his horse Thalion [Dauntless] to a halt whilst he strained to listen to the voices of the wood. Doubtless, Eryn Lasgalen had darkened and grown intentionally trecherous from it's long years in danger and under seige from the black forces growing steadily within it, killing the goodness of the forest from the inside out - and the majority of old trees had cruel, spiting spirits, the evil having gotten them and twisted their hearts into foul things - but if one listened carefully, the spirit of The Great Greenwood could still be heard faintly, struggling to breathe and sing within the confines of the darkness encroached upon it, calling out softly to it's children, the Wood Elves, who strove to preserve this last memory of the glorious forest of Greenwood and who had taught it to speak and sing in the first place.  
  
It was such a voice that Fienngil heard - or thought he heard - calling to him softly, that of the few good trees still growing in Mirkwood. When Thalion stilled, he held his breath and listened once more... There it was! He *had* heard it, there was a voice! Now, if only he could understand what it was saying... the grand, snow-covered trees around him creaked and swayed in the blustery snow that still fell from the heavens above - though it seemed to be coming to it's end - their bare branches almost seeming to whisper of a fallen prince in the heart.  
  
Tusinduil started visibly - A fallen prince in the heart? He urged Thalion forwards on the path he had been going down. A sudden roar swelled around him and he glanced up, alarmed, at the branches of the trees which had all seemed to scrape together as the wind picked up without warning. It was as though a thousand angry voices were calling at him to turn round. Fienngil felt frustrated, he knew the trees were trying to tell him where to go, but he could barely understand what they wanted of him! So he closed his eyes, calmed his mind, leaving his heart to lead him. He felt the urge to move off the path to the right, and into the heart of the forest. Thalion hesitantly stepped forward, deep brown eyes wide, as though expecting another chide from the trees - but the forest was silent. Fienngil tool this to mean he was on the right track, and so set off at a gallop, snow fair-near blinding him. He wished so desperately to find his brother and friend, to find them safe and whole.  
  
He rode until he was nearing the heart of the forest, and Thalion was beginning to tire and slow down, the terrain far more difficult than normal. The warrior elf was thinking of returning back to the palace and then setting out once more, when his sharp, grey-blue eyes caught on something. Several yards away, was a large mound of snow - something which would have been entirely normal of a Mirkwood's winter, had it not been for the fact that the land surrounding this mound was completely flat, having been the spot of a large bonfire a few months ago. Fienngil dropped lightly from Thalion's back and left the horse as a pitch-black speck upon an unblemished backdrop, striding quickly towards the mound. When he reached it, he swiftly knelt in the snow and brushed back the snow on the surface of the mound. His fingers met fabric and his heart leapt. He had found them!  
  
He straightened and, filling his lungs with the icy air around him, bellowed to the white sky, "Dentor! Aie teno let! [Here! I have found them!]" Fienngil hoped at least some of the others would have heard him, and would come to help him. He fell to his knees once more, and quickly scrabbled to get the rest of the snow off his brother and friend, revealing their previously hidden, completely still forms, not caring for the coldness of his fingers. It confused him for a moment when he uncovered some golden hair - he had thought till then that he was dealing with Aragorn: the clothes had seemed to suggest it so, but he discovered his brother was wearing his best friend's clothes, and vice-versa for some reason.  
  
The warrior elf pulled Legolas from off of Aragorn, and lay him gently beside the ranger, and tried to assess the damage. "Oh, Valar," he murmured to himself, and his grey-blue eyes widened as he looked upon the wretched creatures, heart burning.  
  
The pair were breathing, at least, but that was all Fienngil could say. Aragorn's face was deathly pale, and it seemed almost as though blue dye had seeped into his lips, eyelids and nose - he looked so young suddenly, much younger than he seemed and behaved usually. He seemed more of an appirition or ghost than something solid and whole. It frightened Fienngil that he could barely see the ranger's chest rise, and as he ran his hands along the man's limbs, looking for breaks and other injuries, it felt as though he were handling blocks of ice. As the warrior pressed his lips to the man's wrists to feel a life-pulse - as weak and thready as it was, it was still present - his mouth came away almost numb from the complete lack of heat it had been met with. Aragorn was dangerously cold, even the spot where Legolas had been lain over him - presumably to conserve heat - on the man's chest was not warm because the elf was also freezing to touch. Fienngil had been educated a lot in the way of humans since he had first met Aragorn, and was continually surprised by them (Aragorn in particular), but he was still unsure as to what their limitations were - and though he knew from numerous past instances that the heir of Isildur was worth his metal, and he would not buckle under pressure nor fade with pain, the state Aragorn was in now, Fienngil could not help but hold deepest worry within his heart.  
  
He looked to Legolas, and found his findings even graver than he had with Aragorn. His youngest brother was in a terrible way, and it physically hurt his heart to see it. The most pressing worry for Fienngil was the vast wound that encompassed the archer's right shoulder and upper arm - and he could not even bear to look at it harder, for he thought his stomach would churn at the sight of stark-white bone piercing blood red muscle and flesh. From the ragged looks of it, the younger warrior and his best friend had had a run in with a Warg. Legolas had obviously lost a lot of blood from this gaping hole in his body - he was ashen, face grey in it's foreboding hue - dark against the pure snow his head rested on - and his skin was as cold as marble to touch, all warmth having been drawn from the limp, unresisting body through the wound in his shoulder. The small amount of breath the archer drew was harsh, a wheezing breath that pulled at Fienngil's stomach everytime Legolas struggled with his own, failing body to inhale. With every torturous inhale then exhale, the small amount of breath Legolas had gained smoked in the freezing air as it wound it's way out through his partially open, pale lips. His thin chest was a shuddering rhythm, and it terrified his older brother to know what difficulty he was having with the simple act of drawing breath.  
  
Fienngil felt utterly sick with worry - how could such a thing have happened?  
  
The twins, Ithilmir and Esladiya had all been close at hand when their older brother's cries had rent the cold air - they had sent the guards and other warriors away and to the palace with Legolas' dogs in their attempt to not wound the fallen pair's pride (Legolas' in particular) any more than completely possible. They all came crashing onto the scene - their usual, inherent nobility and natural grace disregarded in their desperation and effort to get to Fienngil, Legolas and Aragorn as quickly as possible. The twins were struck by the scene awaiting them, and froze, fair faces open and showing distress whilst Esladiya also halted and gasped, a hand coming up to cover her mouth, whereas Ithilmir simply raced to his brothers' sides. "However could such a thing have happened?" he asked in shock when he saw the inert forms closer, large grey eyes searching Fienngil's pale face as the warrior bent over his prone brother and friend, unsure as to what to do. They did not try waking Legolas and Aragorn, because they all knew how futile this task would prove to be.  
  
"I believe it was a Warg with Legolas and the cold for them both," replied Fienngil, sparing a glance at his younger sibling, the lore-student turned warrior at his side.  
  
"Well, let us not dally: time is of the essence," called out Andariun as he and his older twin came forward, leading their horses and followed closely by their younger sister - all seemed to have suddenly found the use of their legs. Both of the twins were a veritable bag of nerves, their anxiety making them jittery and completely focused upon that which was worrying them. Their deep blue eyes were wide and their usually fairly-rosy cheeks pale, the graceful and fluid movements of the stealth-warriors they were had been turned into jerked motions. None there knew exactly how long Legolas and Aragorn had been out in Mirkwood, surviving it's winter; nor did they know how serious their injuries were; nor exactly how long humans could last. What they did know, however, was that when an Elven body had begun shutting down, it heralded very, *very* bad news. And they knew Legolas' body had begun to shut down.  
  
"Aye," said Arianduil, backing up his brother, "we cannot waste time - for we do not know the cost, nor what we can afford." And with that, not another word was spoken as he and Ithilmir began to pull Aragorn up from where he lay and attempted to place him upon the bare back of Sorontar [Eagle], Andariun's mighty, bay coloured horse. Though they were strong - and especially as one was a stealth-warrior - Aragorn was broad, strong and heavy, and it was a very awkward task.  
  
"I shall tell him to diet when I speak to him next, if not only to save my back," jested Arianduil quietly, a small grin gracing his usually-mirthful features. This joke served to ease his family's nerves, for if they acted as they would normally, none of what they were facing could be so terrible... could it?  
  
Meanwhile, Fienngil hauled Legolas' limp body up and onto Arianduil's horse, Kano [Commander], with ease. Once the elder twin had settled Aragorn in front of Andariun, he leapt onto Kano's back, and encircled his injured youngest brother with his arms, careful of Legolas' grievous wound. The Last Prince's golden head fell forward onto his chest, where it lolled sickeningly, there being no strength left in his bones, and Arianduil was forced to wrap his arm's tightly around Legolas' thin chest to keep him from slipping, drawing him closer. Till he was able to feel a weak heartbeat through the archer's back.  
  
And with that, when they were all horsed, the set off, their steeds almost flying in their need to return to the palace as fast as physically possible. They had been racing for some time, intent upon getting home, when they suddenly had to halt...  
  
"Fienngil!" came Arianduil's panicked cry from the rear of the group, the terror in it enough to stagger those who knew him - for the elder twin was not one to show his fear, if he ever had any. But now his voice was higher than usual, and strained tight, "Legolas is not breathing!"  
  
At this - this smple statement which struck fear as lightening bolts through the hearts of all those present - Fienngil hauled upon Thalion's ebony mane, wheeling him around and charging at full speed to the back of the company, where Youngoak had already pulled his youngest brother down to the snowy ground. Legolas' fair skin had completely lost all colour, the small amount of grey hue there had been there had drained suddenly. His thin chest was not rising or falling, and his struggling, wheezing breath - however horrible it had been to hear - would have been music to their ears to hear it now, for it had ceased.  
  
Esladiya felt the world stop as she looked back and saw what was going on, it seemed even Fienngil moved in slow motion, as though he were fighting against time itself. She practically fell from the back of her horse, Lom [Echo], in her effort to get to her family... she cared not about how a princess like her should act - not when she could lose her heart in the swift change of a second. Andariun was trapped - he could not let go of Aragorn and continued to hold him atop Sorontar, as the young ranger was boneless in his grasp, but oh, how his heart ached to rush to Legolas' side, to make him breathe again.  
  
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I don't mean to nag, but please review and let me know what you're thinking. This was a rather short chapter again, I'm afraid because I got distracted, had a minor writer's block, had coursework etc... yet couldn;t bear to keep you in suspence much longer - I suspect you hate me now, eh?  
  
And I see none of you have taken the hint and read 'Vignettes of the Fellowship' - seriously, if you like the banter in this, then I can almost guarentee you will like that. I have even got the unintentional, mild torture of a certain elf going on! All the fellowship are in each vignette. Just read the titles and summaries of each chapter, and that might inspire you to read it (again, sorry to those who already have)...  
  
Frodo: Ferocious Warg - Boromir observes the doomed plans and consequences of Merry and Pippin's attempt to wake their eldest cousin...  
  
Aragorn: Lord of Impeccable Timing or Legolas: Ranger-Killer - An eccentric battle and a bout of imature from the two best friends behaviour ends in tears...  
  
Boromir: Unexpected Spirit-Healer - A sharped taunt of Gimli's strikes a bullseye in Legolas' heart. And perhaps the most unlikliest of the fellowship is the one able to cheer his spirits...  
  
Merry: Of the Stunted Bladder - Merry is in acute discomfort, but only when the fellowship call a strike will Gandalf halt to let him go. A song, an itch, a harrassed ranger and stories of embarrassing scars lightens the mood...  
  
Legolas: Regular Water-Babe - The fellowship have not been able to wash for some time, and are beginning to notice one another. Aragorn leads them to a sheltered place, where Sam is praised by two people he's mildly scared of, and the fellowship's childish behaviour around water is revealed through a game of underwater 'tig' and unexpected dunkings...  
  
Gimli: Self-Appointed Barber - Gimli is finding his watch dull, even the short, sleepy debate of who is kicking Frodo (and the kick Peregrin is consequently given) does nothing to lighten things. The dwarf works himself into a rage, and Legolas gets a hair-cut he is not aware of...  
  
Gimli: Self-Appointed Barber Part 2 - Legolas is *now* aware of his haircut. Foul moods galore as the wind picks up. Aragorn and Legolas argue, the fellowship have to take shelter in a cave, and Gimli tries to figure out how he has not yet been slain by the shorn elven warrior...  
  
Pippin: The Notorious Instigator - Pippin is frustrated and attempts to pick a fight. The fellowship, however, seems suddenly to be far too mature to indulge in such a thing. All seems lost, until Pip spots the sleeping Samwise. He has forgotten one fatal flaw, however, a force to be reckoned with: the extremely protective Frodo. And it seems the Took has lost his bodyguard...  
  
Gandalf: Nanny to Fools - The wizard has a cunning plan to wake his reluctant fellowship up. Legolas gets the wrong end of a pipe and Aragorn can't move. Later, Merry has a desire for apples and so Legolas is up a tree. Apples hit heads with force, focusing particularly on Aragorn for some reason. Gandalf puts a stop to this in a most interesting way, consequently both Legolas his best friend end up in a stream...  
  
Samwise: Eternal Optimist - It's very, very wet, and Sam tries to cheer his miserable fellowship up as best he can. But is he able to?...  
  
Go on, give it a go, you know you want to! 


	7. Waiting

A/N: Well, it's official... I am genuinely frightened of my reviewers. I was *really* not expecting such passionate responses! Thankyou all very much, though you did scare me - and I am sorry this took so long to post: I had an extraordinarily large amount of trouble getting to a computer... the Star Wars fans of my other story have suffered more, however! At a very crucial part in the story, as well...  
  
Award for the most vicious reviewer goes to Shauna... this was merely a part of her lovely, heart-felt review: 'You LEFT IT WITH HIM NOT BREATHING!? How could you! Geez, it almost seems like you are trying to KILL him!? What is wrong with you!? You better make him start breathing right at the beginning of the next one because by goodness if you don't. You better be prepared to suffer my wrath! I will show you how much pain you caused by killing him!' etc. etc.  
  
Nice, eh? I doubt I'll be doing a cliffhanger like *that* ever again... And so, with that appreciative review in mind, a nice loooong chapter for you all...  
  
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"You must do something, Fienngil!" Arianduil cried, terror making his fair voice hard and almost angry, his blue eyes accusing and wild - he had no idea how to go about making Legolas draw breath and so, though he knew that Morningstar knew about as much as he did, he looked to his eldest sibling to make things alright again, as Fienngil had done when they were all small elflings. All he could do was hold Legolas' golden head in his lap and pray to Iluvatar.  
  
"I know not what!" Fienngil yelled back, running a hand frantically through his mane of light brown hair as his quick mind sped through possible courses of action he could take. Always logical was Fienngil's mind, but at that moment he could find nothing - no fact or reason - to comfort him. Then, something flashed in his skull, "*Esla*!" he called, but found the Elven princess already running swiftly towards them, leaving her snowy- white Lom behind to blend in with the harsh landscape about them. She had the most healing ability between them all, having been taught a little by her mother before Liennia had left them - after the queen's death, Esladiya had lost her heart, and could not bear to continue on her tutorials with anyone other than her mother. Yet, even so, what little healing she did know, could now save their youngest brother.  
  
She fell to her knees beside them, flushing up a large amount of snow as she did so. Her slender hands moved like lightening over the deathly still body of Legolas - the two brothers were unsure as to what she was doing, but they said nothing. The natural instinct in Esladiya had taken over, and she knew exactly what was needed, though her grey eyes were wide with fear as she did so. "Fienngil," she instructed quickly, her normally soft voice quick and authorative, "place your hands in a fist over his chest like this and after I breathe into him, you should press his chest five times." It was a testiment to how frightened Fienngil was that he obeyed his young sister without question, something he would almost never have done under normal circumstances.  
  
"Arianduil, angle his head upwards... and lay him flat." The elder twin did so reluctantly - he now had nothing he could do to help, and so stood without use, watching. "Do not be frightened," cried Esladiya to Fienngil, seeing how carefully he pressed upon his brother's thin chest, trying not to injure the smaller elf. "You are trying to make him start breathing again- he needs your full weight behind the push!" Fienngil nodded, and pressed all the harder, strong arms locked - hoping he would not break the archer's ribs in the process - Esladiya pinched Legolas' nose and, taking a deep inhale, tried to force as much life into the motionless body as possible. They kept on and on in their efforts, determined not to lose their little leaf.  
  
After one agonising moment of torture and work, in which Arianduil almost began despairing, rocking back and forth on his heels as he stood with Ithilmir, who was calming the horses, eyes wide and fixed upon the heart- stopping scene before him - their efforts finally seemed to have paid off. Legolas' body managed to take in a tiny sip of air, chest shuddering and choking, and then another without help, though his eyes still remained stubbornly shut.  
  
Fienngil withdrew his hands from the warrior's chest as though burnt, grey- blue eyes searching wildly for another motion, and Esladiya halted in her administrations... but they had not dreamed it, and Legolas again managed breathed in unaided. As she realised it had not been a false hope, a relieved yet shaky grin took to Esladiya's features and she glanced at Fienngil as she brushed a golden curl from her brow. Her elder brother, however, had his proud head bowed, light brown hair falling in front of his face so she was unable to see his expression - he seemed to have deflated visibly, the frightening prospect he had faced of losing Legolas nearly toppling him.  
  
The events had had a similar effect upon Arianduil, who went at once to his younger twin, still sat holding Aragorn upon Sorontar, and laid his dark brown head upon Andariun's knee, trying to draw strength. Andariun answered this silent plea by stroking the short, dark brown curls of his brother sympathetically in an attempt to comfort him, as was always the way between the two twins. Ithilmir could not look at anyone and he busied himself with the horses. "Now it is obvious even more that we must get them back home, if they are to stand a chance at surviving," the young lore-student said quietly, soft voice anxious and yet starry-grey eyes unable to meet his siblings'. "We must go now."  
  
"Aye," said Fienngil with a sigh, lifting his head once more. Arianduil started forward on shaky legs as if to help, but was waved back by the eldest warrior as Fienngil lifted Legolas tenderly and with ease, cradeling the struggling body close. "Im dentor, Dian Las [I'm here, Little Leaf]," he mumbled lovingly, hoping that wherever Legolas was, he would be able to hear his voice and be comforted.  
  
The youngest prince's shattered right arm hung loosely at an odd angle, and Esladiya gently picked up the useless limb and laid it across Legolas' belly, trying not to cause any more damage. With some difficulty, they got Legolas and Fienngil onto the same horse - the elder brother being thoroughly unable to think about shifting the responsibility of Legolas' care onto anyone else, seeing as they had so very nearly lost him the moment before, which suited Arianduil fine just then, he felt himself far too worried to be much good to anyone - and they set off once more, hoping with all their hearts that they would not have to be put through such an ordeal again. And that they'd be in time.  
  
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"Adar."  
  
The softly spoken word seeped through into Thranduil's consciousness and drew him from his dismal thoughts. He looked up, and found that Tusinduil was gazing anxiously at him, greeny-grey eyes searching, and that Selmanias had taken a step forward, also staring at the King. Even Aricesla - still telling everyone not to fret and that it was probably nothing, yet who had taken refuge in the Throne Room for reasons she was keeping to herself - was looking up from her book at him, one dark brow raised. Thranduil realised a little sheepishly that he had not heard a word of what had been spoken to him for the past ten minutes or so. "I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" he asked his eldest, leaf-shaped ears tinging pink a little in his embarrassment.  
  
Selmanias chuckled when he realised his friend had only been not listening, and that his considerable worrying was not harming his health. Tusinduil was about to say again how he had reckoned they be back by now, when the oaken doors to the Throne Room swung open without heed to reveal a harried Ithilmir, which only meant one thing...  
  
"They have come!" cried Tusinduil, seeing his brother's pale face, not knowing wheather to be relieved, happy, worried or horrified at this notion.  
  
The King leapt rather un-Royally from his throne, and dashed out of the room, solely intent upon getting to his two lost children, those children with him flame-of-Smaug-hot on his heels. They ran as swiftly as they were able till they reached the room where the lost soles had been laid, and were beginning to be treated. What Thranduil saw did shock him, and he faltered for a second.  
  
Aragorn, the only man Thranduil could say he truly cared for, was a pale blue sort of hue. The young ranger's thin, lifeless body was being bundled up by the Mirkwood healers in as many blankets and layers as was physically possible as an elf in the background began running a steaming hot bath, desperate to bring his body back to a livable temperature as quickly as possible. The man was dark hair was soaking wet and plastered to his scalp, and Thranduil could almost feel the coldness radiating from him, could almost visibly see it. Valar knew whether he'd be able to survive at all. And Legolas...  
  
Thranduil felt his breath catch in his throat as he looked upon the still, deathly-still body of his youngest child. Greenleaf was not being swathed in blankets, and the King puzzled at this for a moment, before he saw the gruesome wound afflicted to the archer's right shoulder and arm. It was plain that Legolas had lost a dangerous amount of blood through the injury, and if one added the freezing temperatures, the amount of time they'd been stranded in a Mirkwood winter, and who knew what other complications...  
  
Thranduil felt a gentle hand upon his elbow, attempting to steer him from the room, and turned his dark head to see Selmanias gazing at him, with sympathy gracing his silver eyes but an urgency there also. "Thranduil," he said quietly to his best friend, calling him by the name usually reserved only for others of the Royal family, but in this time of need the Head Guard took no note of formality - he was speaking to the King as the close friend he was. "We have to let the healers do their jobs." Wiseoak was torn, and he did not answer for a moment, watching as the youngest prince steadily disappeared under an increasing number of healers, all doing whatever they could to save him. But he knew why Selmanias was doing what he was doing, and so allowed himself to be pulled away from the heart- stopping scene before him, allowed himself to be pulled away from two of the beings he loved the most, and deposited in a room down the hall, along with all his other children.  
  
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Tusinduil thought himself to be going steadily mad. He feared if he had to wait in the same small room that he and his family had been waiting in for Valar knew how many long hours, with no news still on either Aragorn or Legolas, he might just kill someone.  
  
He stopped pacing the length of the room to cast sad grey-green eyes across the other forlorn members imprisoned along with him: Aricesla, Niandias and Evylenn sat together - it had been a definitive blow to the youngest princess to discover that not all would be well, and there *had* been something to worry about after all, and so it was no wonder Aricesla leaned into Niandias so close. Evylenn had finally been told, and was sitting with her hand in Niandias', hazel eyes wide and vacant. Tusinduil had not wanted her to know about the disappearence earlier in case all actually *was* going to be well, and it had all merely been a large misunderstanding, but once they had learned that it was not, the young elf-maiden had been the first to have been told... she was Legolas' best friend, after all. The prince's and Aragorn's other close friends had not been allowed into this inner sanctum by the healers just yet, for it was feared there would be too many people, but Tusinduil knew that they all stood in the courtyard of the palace, waiting for information, along with many others of the realm who were simply concerned for their prince, loyal subjects without a doubt. It was touching to know that so many cared for the Royal family.  
  
Fienngil stood by the window, too nervous to sit down. He kept running a hand through his long, thick locks, rubbing his face and then sighing. Under normal circumstances, Tusinduil would have chided him half-heartedly, for it was an annoying habit the Second Prince had when anxious or saddened - and it drove their father up the wall. But Thranduil was simply sitting quietly alongside the twins, who both looked a little lost. Andariun and Arianduil did not deal with worry well - Tusinduil could remember the long days of waiting when their mother had been poisoned... the twins had very nearly fallen into the same mortal illness that had nearly claimed Legolas after Liennia's death. The two stealth-warriors were not used to their large hearts hurting, and it was all far too painful for them to deal with. Ithilmir was sitting nearby, reading a book - he also did not do well with anxiousness, and so tried to escape by immersing himself in worlds not his own, trying to distance himself from that which hurt him, and a pale Esladiya kept shooting concerned glances his way, trying to guage whether he was upset enough to embrace or not.  
  
Tusinduil shook his dark head again, and resumed pacing, heaving a sigh along with Fienngil as he did so. Suddenly, the oaken-door to the room opened once more, and a bedraggled healer - the Head Healer, Felrofin - entered. The Royal family, Esladiya and Selmanias leapt almost as one to their feet, nearly closing in a threatening circle around the healer. "What news?" asked Tusinduil harshly, before he could help himself, his nerves too sharpened for protocol. He could not for the life of him figure out the expression of the elf he faced.  
  
"We have managed to warm Estel up, and his body is back at a normal temperature," said Felrofin with a half-smile as the Royal family all heaved sighs of relief. However, it seemed that this was one of the only pieces of good news the healer had to divulge. "But, he is now battling with a very high fever, and it shakes him constantly."  
  
"W-will he be alright?" asked Aricesla, deep blue eyes wide yet hesitant.  
  
Felrofin paused, "We have pots of Athelas simmering in his room, m'lady, and if he makes it through the night, he should make a full recovery." All present had heard the emphasised *if*, and though they were comforted by the fact that Aragorn was no longer as cold as ice, it worried them that he should be so ill because of his prolonged exposure.  
  
"And what of Legolas?" Thranduil asked, frowning in his anxiousness. He felt his heart thud dully against his chest when a look of sorrow seemed to pass across Felrofin's wise face. Surely, nothing could have happened to his little leaf?  
  
"The prince... well, his condition is more complicated. We were able, after much work - the reason it has taken so long for news to reach you - to remove all splinters of bone from the injury, and set the limb to heal... we treated it with Emsill and Relroot paste to try to aid the torn flesh and skin to repair itself. We have stitched the wound up as best we can, and that is really all we can do." Felrofin shifted uncomfortably, but not once did his dark eyes leave the Royal family's, and he continued, "*But*, Prince Legolas had already lost a large amount of blood, and the temperatures and conditions he was exposed to did not help... I am afraid that his body has almost completely shut down on him to protect itself." At Evylenn's choked breath and the Royal family's horrified expressions, he was hastened to add, "Yet we have managed to avoid his body *continuing* to shut down, and so his condition is fairly stable... I will be honest, though, and tell you that he already has stopped breathing once or twice, and is likely to continue to do so until we can contact someone to draw him from the state."  
  
"Wait, can't you do it?" asked Andariun, confused that not everything was being done to save his youngest brother.  
  
The Head Healer favoured the warrior with a sympathetic look, "I lack the talent," he admitted softly. "Only healers of great skill are able to reverse this process... It is my suggestion that Lord Elrond of Imladris should be sent for."  
  
"We shall do it!" Arianduil offered both his and his brother's services up immediately - anything he could do to help was welcome by him. And so it was agreed that they travel as fast as they could to Rivendell to call upon Thranduil's good friend, Elrond, to try and help them.  
  
As Tusinduil followed the rest of his family into Aragorn's room, where they were destined to wait for a long time it seemed, he thought about what was happening to his littlest brother. Because Elves were such wonderous beings, and it was such a priviledge for Middle-earth to have them gracing it's lands, a process was inbuilt into their bodies which was their body's main defence system. In order to protect the precious spirit within, an Elven body would close and halt all it's other systems to try and prevent more damage being done to them. Yet it seemed this intelligent idea was flawed: many Elves actually did die because only an extremely skilled healer was able to bring them back from this self-induced state, and eventually, if all the systems in the body were shut down for long enough, an elf could not quite recover from it. It was a harsh truth, one that Tusinduil did not fully understand... and it scared him.  
  
He took solace in finding Aragorn looking a little better, and the soothing, caressing aroma of Athelas did much to calm him. The ranger was no longer a pallid, terrifyingly-blue colour, yet now a sheen of sweat covered his forehead and chest, and moisture clumped his dark locks together at the base of his neck. His stubbled cheeks were flushed a deep red, and small shakes and tremors racked his lithe frame as he twisted in his sleep. Nevertheless, he did look better, though Aricesla remarked that she could feel the heat coming off him from where she stood. Tusinduil sighed, and settled down to wait with his family as the twins and his father left, the twins hastening to call upon Elrond, and his father being led to the room where Legolas was lying, upon the brink of death - the Royal sons and daughters had been advised not to go see their brother just yet, but had been assured that they would be able to soon.  
  
Tusinduil, wringing out a cool cloth of it's excess moisture and pressing it gently upon Aragorn's flaming forehead, pushing back the damp, dark locks tenderly, hoped that soon would be soon enough.  
  
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Aragorn could not focus his mind. Swirling red and orange images filled his skull, confusing him to no end. He wanted to detach himself from the intensity of his own brain, and struggled to do so. Slowly, he began to feel something other than flames licking the sides of his body and began to see other things than a thick black fog, a smoke screen burned through with dancing fire. Slowly he began to notice a white sort of light reaching him through his eyelids, which he also noticed were closed and leaden-heavy. He noticed for the first time the horrid aches in his tired legs, the pins and needles in his arms and the soreness of his head.  
  
He drew his closest hand to his face and, eyes still stubbornly closed, rubbed at it, feeling more than a few day's growth across his rough chin and jaw. He moaned quietly without really meaning to, and struggled to open his eyes. Light rushed to meet him, though it did not hurt him - it was a nice sort of light, warm and welcoming. Lifting his dark head only a little, Aragorn realised he was in a bed, a soft bed that seemed to caress every curve in his weary body, surrounded by cool sheets. He was warm, but not uncomfortably so, and he was surrounded by people who loved him.  
  
Surveying the room silently, Aragorn also realised that none of those in his company had seemed to notice that he was awake just yet. Sitting closest to him was Tusinduil Grownoak, and looked as though he had been resting with his elbows propped up on the bed, except at that moment the Crown Prince was turned to his closest sister, Niandias Whiteblossom, talking about nothing in particular with the eldest princess. Watching them faintly, a smile gracing her beautiful face, was Esladiya Sunbeam, curled up in the plush armchair at the foot of Aragorn's bed with her knees drawn up to her chest and her deep-red skirts billowing out about her. Sitting upon the floor and leaning back against the chair, reading a book but chuckling softly at the arguments taking place over him, was Ithilmir Moonjewel, and Aricesla Evensun was sat upon the deep windowsill at the far side of the room, gazing out at the forest and not really taking any note of anything else.  
  
"Well, this is a happy little party, I must say - all for me?" Aragorn managed to find the strength to speak aloud, even jest. He watched with satisfaction as his friends all reacted. The all leapt up and rushed at him, their joy at finding him awake evident upon their ageless faces.  
  
"Estel!" cried Tusinduil, grinning as happily as a child would, not looking at all like the noble elf set to inherit a forest that he was at all. "How do you fare, mellon nin?"  
  
"I feel better," Aragorn grinned in return. It suddenly came to him that he had no real recollection of how he had come to be back at the Mirkwood palace - how on earth had he got back here? "How long have I been out?" he asked.  
  
"You've been caught by fever for two days straight, now," replied Aricesla softly, and suddenly the strain of the past few days seemed to show in the dark-blue depths of her eyes and the taughtness of her fair features. "There was a moment there that we didn't think you would wake."  
  
Aragorn realised how worried she must have been about him - the Evensun was like his little sister, which was an extremely odd notion if one considered how long she had been walking Middle-earth before him. "I am well," he assured her, trying to ease her nerves just a little... but he could see that such assurances were not working, and so he held out his left arm weakly, motioning an embrace. The Last Princess quickly darted forward and hugged him eagerly, finally convinced that the ranger really was fine. She pulled away, and he spared a glance around the room - he saw many of the Royal family missing... then he suddenly understood. "What of Legolas? Where is he?"  
  
The look of sorrow that passed over the room scared him half to death. Surely not... his heart seemed to stop, and his starry-grey eyes widened. "No..." he stuttered, unable to comprehend what was his worst nightmare.  
  
Niandias, wise in the feelings of others, was the first to understand what he thought, "Nay! Estel, he is not dead- "  
  
"Yet," added Ithilmir quietly, in an uncharacteristic display of hopelessness. He looked down to his feet guiltily at the sharp looks sent his way by his brother and sisters.  
  
"Well, w-what...?" Aragorn was bewildered and frightened. His heart slid all the way down to his bare feet as Tusinduil explained Legolas' foreboding condition - surely there was no hope to be found? But when he was told that the twinsYoungoak and Deepstream had been sent to get his father, his heart lifted a little: his father always made everything all right... but would he be able to this time? "I have to see him," the headstrong ranger stated, and began to weakly push aside his blankets and sheets, struggling to get out of bed.  
  
"But you can barely even stand!" Esladiya protested, concerned as always by the wellfare of her human friend.  
  
"I don't care!" cried Aragorn, slate-grey eyes ablaze with desperation. He sat up straight, and battled against the strong wave of dizziness that washed over him: he *had* to see Legolas - to see what he had done to his best friend. For he believed it to be all his own fault that they had been landed in such situations, and such consequences had occurred. He waved off the Second Princess' helping hand, determined to get to Legolas.  
  
"Wait," said Tusinduil, not wishing the young ranger to sustain any more damage than was neccessary, but realising that Aragorn would not merely give in so easily. "I have an idea." He cast a faintly amused, greeny-grey glance at Aragorn, "But it might mean a little loss of dignity on your part, mellon nin." There was a hidden question in this statement.  
  
The sharp ranger just looked up at the prince defiantely, jaw firm and eyes burning. "I have to see him," he shrugged, trying to get across his desperation, his frustration at the shakiness of his limbs. The Crown Prince, however, did seem to understand him, because Grownoak simply nodded silently, leaned down, and quickly scooped up the thin young man into his arms and began to make his way out of the room.  
  
Aragorn tried hard to hide his surprise at being carried like a small child, especially by a being no bigger or stronger looking than himself. It sort of bruised his masculinity and ego to have someone who he had persisted in calling a 'weak, prissy elf-princeling' carry him so easily. He obviously didn't hide his thoughts well, as Tusinduil noticed his look and raised one dark eyebrow, a sly grin taking over his face, "I did say, Estel," he chided quietly, sounding scarily like Legolas.  
  
The ranger did not bother to argue with him as they were nearing Legolas' room. Aragorn took note when they entered how sombre everyone looked: Fienngil was stood tensely by the open bay windows, strong body striking a silhouette against the bright light, a hand to his face; Selmanias the Head Guard was leaning wearily back against the opposite wall, staring at the ceiling. King Thranduil sat in the bench at one side of the bed, dark head held in his hands, and the very lovely Evylenn sat at the other side, her large hazel eyes never straying from the form who occupied it.  
  
For in the bed, lay Legolas, as still as if there were a death-hold over him.  
  
The prince was so pale he seemed to fade away into his sheets, closed eyes dark and the orbs sunk into his skull as though he had been punched. His long golden hair had been plaited so that one single plait fell over his shoulder, that is, the shoulder that wasn't bound to the elbow by clean, white bandages and laid in a sling across his barely-moving chest. Evylenn clung onto his left hand as though it were her only lifeline.  
  
Aragorn felt his breath knocked out of him: never had he seen his best friend looking so ill, and his heart flamed within his chest as though consumed by fire. He motioned for Tusinduil to set him down, and was able to stand on his own feet, though he wobbled a little. Evylenn glanced up, and the moment she saw Aragorn she shot up as an arrow from a bow and in a second was with him, pulling him into an embrace of thanks, smile wide and eyes shining. Aragorn hugged her back readily, already calmed by her mere scent - the auror that surrounded the elf-maiden - she had always been able to make him feel better, lighter at heart somehow. They drew strength from one another, and he knew that she and himself would be having a nice, long talk later on. He felt a hand upon his shoulder and turned to find Fienngil smiling down upon him and nodding, and indication of his relief.  
  
"Thought you'd never make it, human," the Second Prince joked, and recieved a slap to the chest from Evylenn, who frowned darkly upon such a choice theme for humour. Fienngil merely rolled his eyes at her to Aragorn, who chuckled weakly and swiftly avoided her darkly-flashing eyes as well. But in doing so, he met the hard, deep slatey-blue eyes of Thranduil Wiseoak. The King had stood, and was now looking at Aragorn, stern face giving away nothing as to what he was feeling. Aragorn could not, for the life of him, figure out what was running through the dark-haired elf's mind, and it was a little scary. Fienngil and Tusinduil, howevet, knew implicitly what such a look meant, having grown up with such confusing signals. "Eeep," said Fienngil, "We're leaving." At Aragorn's startled, helpless look, Morningstar grinned a little, laying a hand again on his slim shoulder, "Don't worry, Estel: you've survived a Mirkwood winter, you can survive this." And he left with his brother, Evylenn and Selmanias, shutting the door behind them.  
  
For just a moment, nothing happened, and Thranduil continued to stare Aragorn right in the eye, giving absolutely nothing away, not even a hint. Aragorn himself was petrified, the tension being almost too much for his already-fragile system - yet he liked to think he showed no outward fear, and that the shaking in his legs was merely a result of standing up for the first time in a few days. He could not know that Thranduil was so relieved that Aragorn was even alive that he could not speak, and his face was simply set in it's natural position, which seemed to be one of a stern manner. The young ranger thought that the King blamed him for the condition of his youngest son, as he did with himself, and immediately jumped to the conclusion that Thranduil was enraged with him - a position he most decidedly did *not* wish to be in.  
  
It was a surprise to him, then, when Thranduil came at him quickly: Aragorn took a frightened half-step backwards, before he was pulled into a tight, breath-imparing, embrace, his face pressed close against the King's chest. It was such a surreal moment for him, and he was still stunned into submission when the mighty elf pulled him away to hold him at arm's length and smiled warmly at him. "How are you feeling?" asked the King kindly, grey-blue eyes warm and sparkling.  
  
Aragorn couldn't even string together two words, let alone voice his opinions on the unexpected outcome.  
  
Thranduil took this as an indication of Aragorn's health, and his smile swiftly faded away to an expression of concern. "Estel? I wonder... has your fever lessened at all?" And, seeking an answer, he laid a cool hand gently upon Aragorn's forehead, he frowned at his findings. "Hmmm, still warm, ion [son] - I shall have to keep my eye on you." The ranger felt a giddy laughter bubbling up inside of him, and he breathed harshly in an effort not to let it explode from his chest, eyes wide and dark brows raised, a smile beginning to spread itself across his rugged features. The King noticed his look, and peered closer into the young man's face, and asked (with, apparently, all seriousness), "Estel, is it possible you lost your mind out there in the forest?"  
  
That was the final straw. Sagging in relief, Aragorn lay his head upon Thranduil's strong chest and hugged him in the self-same unabashed way he had when he was still a young child, wrapping his arms as tight as possible around his waist. The King, somehow sensing Aragorn's need for comfort after his ordeal, merely wrapped his arm's around the ranger's slim back without saying anything other than: "Well, you did knock that skull of your's about a bit... better to be safe than sorry...". Which made Aragorn laugh outright despite himself, and hold him all the more closer.  
  
After a moment, they broke apart and looked upon Legolas. "Is he *very* ill, My King?" asked Aragorn after another moment of silence, trying not to let the extent of his worry seep through into his words, yet failing most miserably. A horrid slab of guilt had formed in the pit of his stomach, and he foresaw that it would not be leaving him anytime soon.  
  
Thranduil favoured him with another one of his familiar, elusive-to-discern gazes. "I shall be truthful, Estel, and tell you that it could go either way," he said softly.  
  
Aragorn's proud shoulders slumped a little at this foreboding statement. He did not wish to tell the mighty King and loving father that *he* was to blame for Legolas' state, so instead he swallowed and asked, "How long will it take for my father to come?" Aragorn, though now a young man at seventeen years of age, held the firm belief, as he had done all his life, that Lord Elrond was capable of making everything better, *anything* better. It was a decidedly human notion, which he held, that Elves were infalible, that they could not be injured... and Aragorn was having difficulty coming to grips with the confronting reality that they were no such thing, and he might actually lose Legolas.  
  
"The boys set off the night you were found, which was over two days ago." The ranger turned to Thranduil. He couldn't believe it! That meant, only if Arianduil and Andariun had been riding with the wind behind them and their steeds at their fastest pace, they would only just have reached Imladris! How long would it take for his father to get here and bring Legolas back to them all? Aragorn knew the answer: too long. Thranduil saw his disappointment, and laid a hand upon his shoulder, "Do not fret, ion: Legolas is as tough as old boots... he'll be all right, you see." He was speaking more for the human's sake than with real truth behind the words. While Legolas did continually surprise them all by recovering swiftly from fairly-serious injuries over and over again and bouncing back, this time Thranduil wasn't at all sure they *would* be all right.  
  
Nevertheless, he sat with Aragorn upon the cushioned bench beside Legolas' bed, and talked warmly with one another for many hours as they usually did when Aragorn came to Mirkwood, keeping the demons away, until finally the King looked down to find the young ranger fast asleep, head resting lightly upon the elf's shoulder, the day's stresses and his previous condition getting the better of him. Thranduil smiled softly and, reaching out, pulled a blanket over them both, laying his own dark head back upon the top of the bench, he let his eyes drift steadily out of focus. And his dreams were filled with images of Legolas waking.  
  
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Thoughts? Advice? Abuse? Let me know and I shall take it all on board. Thankyou very much again to everyone who reviewed the last offering, and I hope this one moderately satisfied you... notice the absence of a cliffhanger? You proud o' me? lol YOU BELTING PEOPLE HAVE PUSHED ME OVER THE 100 MARK IN REVIEWS! I think we ALL deserve a round of applause... couldn't literally have done it without y'all! Thanking you! And also thankyou to everyone who let me know they read Vignettes - I'm guessing their trying to tell me to shut up, yeah? Yeah...  
  
Jebb: The fire/flood/minor disaster area of Aragorn's in the West Wing of the Palace is a very interesting notion, and I shall definately consider it... but I reckon I've already got something in mind for the ending. Maybe the snowball fight, maybe not.... I do like to have and make references in all my stories... I like 'em all to have a little connection between them.  
  
Gwyn: I do the exact same thing you do... I rejoice in stories where people are hurt, not breathing, dead.... heh heh, that's not sick, is it?  
  
Templa Otmena: Again thankyou so very *very* much. You seem to be the most fervent supporter of Legolas' family, and I really do appreciate it. Grin.  
  
Barbara Kennedy: Welcome! I'm glad you decided to review and let me know you're here!  
  
Isadora: You should have spoken up before! I so didn't know you were here! Thankyou for letting me know.  
  
Beth: You get funniest reviewer reward. For everyone else who has no idea what I'm taking about... good ol' Beth, here, has been away from ff.n for a while, and caught up with my stories recently, including this one. And then proceeded to REVIEW EACH AND EVERY CHAPTER! It took some guts, but she did it, and I found it hilarious to see your attitude change as you read each one, Beth. And thankyou so very VERY much for the review you left for me in Vignettes... it was sooo kind.  
  
Mirfaen: I think I've found my talent - being able to give my readers 'strokes and heart attacks at the end of every chapter'! And as for more fellowship stuff... well, I've got a couple of ideas that you might enjoy... don't know yet, but I so enjoy writing them that it's hard not to imagine me doing more, isn't it?  
  
Thankyou again to everyone else who reviewed, I couldn't fit you all here, but I know you're out there! 


	8. Minds

A/N: You're all beautiful, beautiful people, and I adore you all. Lol. You're so great when it comes reviews, though I did get the feeling that a lot of you want this story to end... can this possibly be true? Let me know!  
  
I reckon this'll be the last post before Christmas - this coming week is jam-festively-packed for me thanks to a number of parties, do's, gigs going on... Yeah, so even though I am barely at home at all during the first part of the crimbo hols, after that I shall be most deftly avoiding coursework and revision, and so will hopeful and most likely post the week after Christmas.  
  
Now, a couple of you have requested my family tree for Legolas, or at least *MY* family tree for Legolas, and here it is, obviously no details about brothers and sisters are put on, but this is their order...  
  
[(1st) Tusinduil Grownoak - Crown Prince] = [(2nd) Niandias Whiteblossom - First Princess] = [(3rd) Fienngil Morningstar - Second or Star Prince] = [(4th) Arianduil Youngoak - Third Prince (though twin)] = [(5th) Andariun Deepstream - Fourth Prince (though twin)] = [(6th) Esladiya Sunbeam - Second or Sun Princess] = [(7th) Ithilmir Moonjewel - Fifth Prince] = [(8th) Aricesla Evensun - Last Princess] = [(9th) Legolas Greenleaf - Last or Green Prince]  
  
Phew, am glad that's over!  
  
Also, there's a fair bit in this chapter that you really have to use your imagination with, but I have tried to very hard to write the event *exactly* how I saw it when I though about it... so you are not to mock, reet? Give comments sure, but please don;t skip it as I did have great trouble trying to become eloquent enough to put it into words, kay? *I think* I pulled it off... response to reviewers with next chapter as there's been a bit of a rush on my part to write and post this.  
  
[PS. I SAW THE RETURN OF THE KING!!!! *OH MY GIDDY AUNT WAS IT GOOD!* Genius. Pure and simple. From start to finish it was an utter masterpiece... all those who have seen it will know exactly what I am talking about. I have never cried or felt my heart break more times in any other film... EVRYONE - even a few lads I know - stumbled out of the cinema trying to pull themselves together. And for me, speaking not (for once) as the obsesive LotR fan that I am, but more as the rather-critical and cynical viewer of lots and *LOTS* of films, I could possibly say that it was the best film I have ever had the pleasure of viewing. Anyway, sorry, I just had to let it all out!]  
  
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"Estel? Did you say you wanted some of this toast?"  
  
Aragorn was dragged out of his thoughts reluctantly as he looked up to find a large pair of warm hazel eyes gazing deeply into his own across the sick- bed they presided over. He was sitting, bundled in the cushioned bench beside Legolas' bed, swaddled against his will in many blankets, and Evylenn sat in the chair she always sat in across from him. It was unfortunate that time did not simply stand still in certain circumstances, and through a lot of bad noise, the King and his eldest son had been forced to go back to ruling the kingdom once more, for a short while in any case: all knew where their hearts truly lay. And Legolas' brothers and sisters were all getting rest, exhausted from worry, or had to return to their work.  
  
He smiled softly at her typical - if not familiarly annoying - concern, "No thanks," he said, clearing his sore throat a little, "I'm not all that hungry." Aragorn, as a consequence of his recent adventure, had developed the irksome human affliction of the common cold: therefore he was not very hungry as he could not taste anything, his nose was sore, his chest heavy and his ears in need of a good pop.  
  
But the fair elf-maiden was having none of that, "Come on, you really must eat something," she insisted, holding said piece of food out to the stubborn ranger - Aricesla, on her way to her studies in the palace's main, vast library, had dropped off some toast and tea for those keeping the vigil, and it was welcome in one quarter at least. Evylenn brought a piece of her own toast to her mouth, and spoke most un-ladylike whilst eating it, "You know as well as I that it is simply impossible for you humans to not eat for more than a few hours."  
  
The young man chuckled, at her actions as well as her words, shifting his limbs under the warm weights of the blankets, and his eyes drifted back towards Legolas' still deathly-still form. "Nay... seriously, I'm fine."  
  
Evylenn stared at him for a moment longer, chewing thoughtfully, and put the toast back down on the plate, shifting it to one side, "Well, if you're sure," she mumbled and, swallowing her mouthful, picked up her steaming honey-tea.  
  
But Aragorn didn't hear her: his grey eyes were fixed and his mind wholly focused upon his best friend. Legolas had not moved an inch since the day they had been found... he had stopped breathing more often than Aragorn thought was *completely* necessary, but he showed no sign of even being alive, his chest barely moving with each slow breath he took in. The waiting was what was driving the ranger insane... that, and the feeling of total helplessness... oh, and the guilt that was threatening to crush him with it's enormous weight... and the nerves which were steadily shredding his heart apart. The sooner his father came and pulled his best friend away from the brink of death, and the sooner they found out whether there'd be any lasting damage done to the elf-prince, the better... he didn't think he could wait all that long though.  
  
The two were left to their own thoughts for a time, sinking further into themselves as the comfortable silence went on. The large, stunningy- decorated windows about the room let the winter sun stream in glorious, filling the chamber with lightand making the figure lying in the bed seem to glow with an unearthly golden aura, yet when clouds shifted periodically in front of the sun, Legolas was revealed as he was in reality at that time, pale and ill-looking, battered and frail beyond belief.  
  
Suddenly, something seemed wrong, and Aragorn's dark head snapped up quickly. He couldn't figure out what it was, but something was missing in the room. Then it hit him - Legolas had stopped breathing *again*.  
  
Aragorn immediately threw himself into the routine he had mastered over the past night and day, as Evylenn quickly set aside her tea and joined him. Their hands moved in unison as they bent over the completely still body of their best friend, their calm exteriors showing nothing of the terror they felt within themselves. The amount of times that this had happened did absolutely nothing to soften the sharp knife of anxiety that sliced into their hearts everytime it happened. As Aragorn's breath was still a little thready from his own recent ordeal, it was Evylenn he pinched her best friend's nose and breathed into his mouth while the young ranger pumped strongly upon the thin chest. After a while, Evylenn finally felt some resistance, and stopped forcing her own breath into the struggling being: thankfully Legolas' brain seemed to have regained control of his unresponsive body once more.  
  
They sagged again, tired from the endless resuscitations they were forced to practice on a now-regular basis. Though Felrofin and the other healers had managed to stablise Legolas' condition, they were unable to keep his lungs functioning adequately for some reason, and the organs seemed to forget what they were supposed to be doing once every while... that was Aragorn's rather childlike view on the whole situation, anyway.  
  
Aragorn looked up, catching Evylenn's eye. He noticed the elf-maiden seemed to be shaking quite a bit, and she did not roll her eyes or make a reassuring comment as she had been doing upon such occassions. Rather, she looked more as though she had been punched in the stomach, and trembled like a leaf in a strong breeze, battered by her own emotions. "Oh, Evy..." he murmured, deep voice sympathetic as he moved towards her. She ran to him, and buried her face in his chest as he wrapped his arms comfortingly about her. Up until then, Evylenn had been the one to make him feel better: she looked out for him and practically force-fed him tea and the such, but he saw now that she needed just as much support as he did, as they all did.  
  
As he held her, something seemed to flare in the ranger's heart: it was anger. He knew not who or what it was directed at, but he knew the sensation. All his frustrated, pent-up feelings about the whole situation were triggered at the sight of seeing Evylenn even mildly upset. He broke from her, throwing an arm wildly about, voice raised, "I refuse to wait any longer!"  
  
Evylenn looked dully at him, and exhaled, "Whatever do you mean, Estel? All we can do is wait."  
  
"Nay! We do not know how long it will take my adar to reach here, and what if- " He broke off, chest tight all of a sudden for reasons not connected with his cold, then continued quietly, looking down at his bare feet, "... what if he is too late?"  
  
The elf-maiden gasped slightly, and her soft hazel eyes hardened noticeably, "Do not say such a thing!" she cried, her wish not to think about such a statement making her voice angry. Then, her expression melted as she realised the harshness of her tone, and lifted up a hand to brush away a straggly dark lock from the ranger's flushed face, "I am sorry... but, Estel, this is not like you... tell me what is wrong," she pleaded with him to open up to her, to release the pressure steadily building in him from within.  
  
Aragorn refused to look her in the eye, and he spoke more to the floor than to her. "Well... it's just that this is all my fault, and... and I can't just stand and wait for something worse to happen all because of me... I *can't*."  
  
"Estel," Evy said softly, a small, fond smile seeping through into her words, "None of this is your fault... circumstances merely- "  
  
The ranger cut her off, "It was not circumstances, Evy... *I* was the one- " He halted, frustrated by his lack of eloquence to express his feelings. Then his frustration flared once more, and he cried, angry at himself, "Legolas *told* me that I could not go to sleep... he said over and over again - and I ignored him. When he faltered, I gave him Dragrod root to try and ease his pain... I honestly thought it was for the best but... but I found my own weakness and fell asleep, despite his persistant warnings." Aragorn paused, sighing deeply, unable to look at Legolas' best friend, "And, because he was so worried for me, he pushed himself well past his few limitations... and... and has ended up where he is now." He looked again at his best friend, so still and pale, and his eyes burned and stung with bitter tears, "... He might never wake, Evy, and all because I wanted to show off my tracking skills... I cannot bear to think what life would mean without him." And he stopped, voice breaking, lost in a world of his own making, distraught.  
  
He expected Evylenn to be angered with him now she had learnt fully of what had put her best friend in the sick-bed where he now lay, or at least to confront him. But instead, he felt a light hand upon his shoulder blade and turned to find an open face and understanding eyes. She paused before she said anything, then spoke softly in earnest. "Estel," she repeated, trying to make him realise that neither she, nor any of the Royal family, placed any blame upon his shoulders, "you are *not* to blame."  
  
Aragorn felt a little pressure leave his heart, but only a little. Yet even so he nodded in thanks. "In any case," he said, voice strong now and grey eyes glinting with determination rather than regret, "I will not wait."  
  
"What do you propose to do?" Evylenn's dark brows drew down in confusion.  
  
"My father has taught me a little of drawing spirits from places in the mind, and I thought maybe I could try to... to bring him out of it," now Aragorn said the plan aloud, he realised he sounded a little foolish.  
  
Evylenn smiled a little, though she tried not to look like she was making fun of her friend. "Estel," she began to protest, "... only *extremely* skilled healers can reverse this Elvish condition, and-" here she placed a slender hand upon her own chest, over her heart " -not that I don't have full, unwavering faith in your abilities - but..."  
  
Aragorn grinned slightly, amused despite himself. "You don't think I can do it?" he asked, one dark brow raised in mock-question.  
  
"I never said that! I- " Evylenn's pale cheeks flushed pink for a mere second, then faded again.  
  
"*You don't think I can do it*!" the young ranger accused, as though offended, crossing his arms across his chest in an expression of extreme stubborness. At Evylenn's uncharacteristic loss of words, he dropped his arms, and moved towards the bed with determination, "Well, we'll see about that..." he muttered as though indignant, chest puffing out of it's own accord.  
  
Evylenn's pleasing mirthful laugh at the ranger's actions seemed to make the room grow brighter in answer to her amusement, as she also moved towards the bed. She watched as Aragorn seated himself next to his best friend, looked at him for a moment, smile fading slightly from his rugged face, cleared his throat, centred himself - squaring his shoulders and breathing in deeply - and placed a hand upon the warrior's pale forehead. She fought to hide her smile, but could not quite let the intense moment last, however anxious she was to have Legolas back, "Don't we need some candles and incense-sticks or something?"  
  
Aragorn opened his eyes and pinned her with a devastatingly-dirty glare, "You know, this could be so much easier for me if I had your full support- "  
  
"Oh, and you *do*, Estel," she assured him wickedly, throwing him a look of mock-concern, hazel eyes wide.  
  
" -and if you could refrain from mocking me for a mere moment or so," the ranger finished with a raised brow and smile, baiting her.  
  
She sighed and made a clicking noise with her tongue, shrugging her slim shoulders, "Ah... well then, no can do, I'm afraid - that's a deal- breaker."  
  
He snorted, then went back to being serious, placing his hand again upon his best friend's still forehead and closing his eyes once more. Aragorn let himself drift in the peaceful lull that overcame him, almost as though he were upon the brink of sleep. He sought mentally for the strong connection he held with Legolas, and for a while he was unable to find it, but then in his mind he thought he saw a dim beacon, a little keyhole of golden light in the darkness. Concentrating strongly, he made it widen a little, until he was able to send soothing, healing thoughts through it, hoping to reach the mind and spirit beyond with the warm red intentions. Slowly, Aragorn managed to gently force his own way through the gap, mentally of course, and he was met, not with the amazing, unequalled brightness and light of a healthy elf mind - not to mention Legolas' stunning spirit - but rather with another dimmed space, where he could see that the blazing light of his best friend must have been blocked from view, and all that could be seen were little cracks where a few faint rays of gold managed to slip out through the thick ebony plates that defended it and exist, though barely.  
  
The only indication Evylenn had, watching this process from the outside, that her friend wasn't asleep, was the frown that took over the ranger's handsome features. She wondered what in Valar could be happening between the two minds, for she herself had no knowledge of the healing art of drawing spirits.  
  
Aragorn meanwhile, was mentally working on easing apart the cracks, where shells of protectiveness had enclosed the precious elven spirit within. The black protective plates completely blocked out everything on both sides, and it was hard work, taking up all of the ranger's strength to pull them apart. But he was managing it, his red-hued mental healing thoughts acting like a balm that soothed and eased, making it slowly easier and easier for him to mentally enter the slightly widened cracks. He tried not to force his way through the barriers: it was a common mistake inexperienced healers made when trying to draw an elven spirit, his father had told him one day, and it could end up breaking the patient's mind... and that was completely *not* what Aragorn wished to do to Legolas, he had already done enough.  
  
But, bit by bit, he got through the cracks between the barriers, red healing waves seeking and finding ways of seeping through all the gaps available. And he was finally faced with a recognisable, if extremely dimmed, golden Elven spirit he knew to be Legolas'. The spirit was very far away from him, and it seemed to be wrapped a little in protective plates of it's own and yet Aragorn could see the darkness of illness and injury had crept up on it anyways, binding and choking the weak golden light - he had been right, had they waited for Lord Elrond, it *would* have been too late, he just hoped not enough damage had been done to permenantly affect his best friend.  
  
Using strength that was beginning to slip through his fingers and ebb away from him with his tiring effort, Aragorn mentally flared with the red healing spirit he had been born with, and sent tendrils and waves of this gift to the struggling golden light, bolstering it and beginning to draw it mentally towards him, regardless of the darkness that still clung to it. The golden spirit seemed to hesitate, and was pulled back slightly by the dark bindings that kept it in place, but then, as if finding new strength, Legolas' spirit sparked dimly and came forward, though the darkness would not relent. Aragorn aided the spirit readily by encouraging and urging, until finally, gold met with red, desperately clasped and became one, and Aragorn used all his might to pull them both from the shielded enclosure of Legolas' mind.  
  
He snapped back to the moment suddenly, and only Evylenn's steadying hand helped him to stay upright as he blinked, head pounding dully. "Did it work?" she asked, her voice tight and desperately hopeful, hazel eyes wide and imploring, not really daring to believe.  
  
Aragorn did not know, he looked down fearfully at his best friend, and found that Legolas was no longer deathly-still: his chest actually seemed to move, he twitched, and his eyes roamed sluggishly beneath their heavy lids. And as Aragorn kept watching, the prince's jewelled-green eyes opened to slight cracks, and he breathed in deeply, as though waking from a mere sleep, and not a coma. Tears of relief and joy filled Aragorn's eyes, and a wide grin split his face as he fought not to hug his weak friend, instead he turned to hug Evylenn, who was not holding back her tears and instead let them fall freely down her smooth cheeks as she let out a giddy laugh of relief.  
  
Legolas, struggling to keep his eyes open at all, saw his two best friends, and tried to smile. It came out sort of weak and twisted, and it suddenly hit Aragorn that more damage might have been done to his best friend than was previously thought, and perhaps he had broken Legolas' mind? "Mellon nin, can you hear me? Speak, say anything..."  
  
"-this fuss... over little old me...?" Legolas managed to speak faintly between stubbornly-unresponsive lips. The words were slurred, and the voice heart-wrenchingly weak, but it was clear that Legolas had not lost his mind.  
  
Aragorn could not express how happy he was, how he felt his chest was fit to burst with joy, and he exchanged a mirthful glance with Evylenn, who was grinning widely, cheeks rosy and shiny. He was not about to go all sloppy and heart-felt on his best friend when he'd just woken up - there would be plenty of time for that later - and so instead he jested, "Well, you're the dainty little princeling who needs to be the centre of attention and *have* fuss made over him..."  
  
The elf grinned weakly again, but his eyes refused to stay fully open, and sank so that Aragorn could only see small slivers of bright green beneath dark lashes. "Four words," he said, voice quiet and amused, but harsh and unused, "*a ranger getting lost*..."  
  
The ranger in question chose to ignore Evylenn's undignified snort from behind him, and instead felt a little dip in his happy spirits as he watched Legolas. A frown had begun to marr Legolas' proud brow, and he breathed in sharply as though he'd been struck, assaulted all of a sudden with horrible pain which began to twist his injured body as he fought weakly to evade it. Aragorn chided himself: he should have known that not all things would be well immediately. "Legolas?" he asked, concern growing once more and smile slipping slightly from his face.  
  
"It is well... I-I am fine," said Legolas, eyes closed fully now, even screwed up slightly. He was trying to reassure his best friend, but Aragorn detected the hidden strain in the quiet voice which very nearly faltered on it's words, and the heaviness of the breathing that followed them. Legolas was trying to keep his pain at bay and stay awake for Aragorn and Evylenn's sake.  
  
"Legolas, mellon nin, we shall be here when you wake back up," Aragorn said quietly, and moved to clasp the prince's uninjured hand gently as Evylenn sat back down in her chair by the bed and reached out to stroke a lock of golden hair that had fallen loose from the single plait on Legolas' shoulder, back behind his pointed ear with tenderness. "We shall all be here, waiting for you."  
  
A faint, fleeting shadow of a smile graced Legolas' fair features for a mere second, and lifted the darkness and pain that had fallen there for a while. The limp hand held in Aragorn's large, warm one returned a friendly, greatful squeeze weakly, and Legolas fought to open his eyes just a little bit more. The green cresents visible to Aragorn beneath his lashes twinkled as the prince said, "Hannon-le cin devie nistras, mellon nin haedul [Thankyou for bringing me back, my truest friend]." And then the pain of his body beginning to re-start itself became too much for him to bear, and he fell away from reality once more, but into a hopefully more wholesome world than he had previously been in, the hand Aragorn was holding falling limp again.  
  
Aragorn felt thoroughly and wretchedly undeserving of the title Legolas bestowed so gladly upon him just then, so unworthy to have this elven prince call him a friend, let alone his best one. He had nearly killed Legolas with his stupidity, and yet the warrior still thanked him? His heart held all the more regrets and guilt than it had done before he had drawn Legolas' spirit, and he no longer felt his soul eased.  
  
But nevertheless he sat with Evylenn as Legolas slept, weak body trying in vain to repair itself and begin starting again all the systems it had shut down on itself, and neither pair of eyes left the prince's still form till Aricesla wandered in and learnt of the happy time and fled to tell her King.  
  
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I was gonna have another bit on the end of here, but time is a limiter, y'know! Let me know what you're thinking. And a merry christmas to you all! 


	9. Emotion

A/N: I hope you all had a brilliant Christmas and New Year... I know I did, though am kinda paying for it now! Now, sorry to say it folks, but come January, for a couple of weeks I will not be able to think about posting or writing or anything. Exams ahoy, I'm afraid. Hopefully this'll get put out before then (and if not, then it's a little late and you have my apologies). But seriously, I have tons of revision to do and coursework to catch up on and... y'know... stuff I actually have to *LEARN* from scratch... so there mught be a fairly long span between this post and the next... or there might have just been a long span... sorry, it can't be helped.  
  
In any case, a lot of you have been telling me to 'hurry up and finish it' and that you 'can't wait for it to end'... now, I assume you all meant it in the nicest possible way, but.... Lol, I'm just messing with you! But, sad to say, this story has nearly reached it's end (believe it or not, it was only supposed to be a short story that lasted a couple of weeks! I went off-track a little...). I can't image how I'm gonna deal with not having this story to write all the time... lol, it's a life-changer! Anway, on to reader-responses... if you not in the bit immediately following this, then you're almost certainly gonna be at the end... though I seriously cannot reply to everyone, I appreciate your view very *VERY* much!  
  
Wildfire: Sorry, I don;t think the twins'll be in this story... I will, however, as a consolation prize, make references towards them and have the characters in this story talk about them. Will that do?  
  
Isadora: Hope you had a happy birthday. I seem to have a mental-block when it comes to making Thranduil stern... I can't even make him seem a little stand-offish - I love him too much! Seriously, I adore him as a character but fear I might have made him a little too... typical, if you know what I mean. I have attempted in this chapter to put across how he could seem so serious and more than a little bit frightening, but I think I may have failed! Lol... I still love writing him as a kind, loving character though, and I'm not gonna stop! And the thing with his affection for Estel - it seems to me that the families in Mirkwood and Rivendell have been friends for a long, *long* time, and are all connected together and he feels the same for Elrohir, Elladan and Arwen... plus, how could anyone not love Aragorn?!  
  
emma: No, I will not change what I wrote - that Legolas is smaller than Aragorn and the ranger's clothes are too big for him. Almost everything I write and put into my stories are there for good reason. Perhaps we just differ from our perceptions of Legolas, and I respect that... but when I think of him, I think of a young elf who is very lithe and energetic or to put it in a sickeningly-descriptive way 'Like a young willow tree, thin but strong, rising up into the sunlight...' blah blah. And Aragorn is going to grow up as a mighty King, he's a warrior who had already faced a lot in his young life. And seventeen year olds can be big! I understand your reasoning that elves are mighty and strong etc. but I don't think that all elves have to have the same physical structure, and I am merely writing and decribing what *I* alone think - not suggesting for a moment that it is the general rule. That's why I have Thranduil's hair as dark, Legolas with eight siblings and a mother poisoned by a spider bite... that's why I have Legolas with green eyes... it's merely how *I* percieve it all, and I ask you to please respect that and not ask me to change things that I have purposefully included in my story. But thankyou for your review and I hope you continue to read my story and review it. I welcome stuff like that.  
  
Elainor: Welcome and thankyou very much for your reviews. I personally restrained myself with the bear as I thought you'd all get a bit sick of me continuously injuring our beloved Legolas and Aragorn!  
  
Beth: *SIGH*... well, I *suppose*... if you really want more fellowship stuff, I'll make a whole lot of effort and... Lol, only kidding. I love writing about the fellowship and you can rest asurred that there is a lot in the pipeline and coming your way. And, to be perfectly honest, you are a wonderfully delightful reviewer and I had to give you acknowledgement for it! Sorry to embarrass you and all... lol. And as for the references... I can't help it! My mind becomes full of all these ideas of things that have happened to the characters before we met them and I can't help but write them down!  
  
marbienl: Yes, I said there'd be Thranduil/Aragorn interaction and I keep my promises! Secretly, I absolutely adore writing anything with Thranduil in so couldn't help myself! As for Aragorn being thin but heavy... I think that was a mistake on my part, but let's just say it was intentional and I imagine the ranger as... dense? Lol. As for the #Legolas is as tough as old boots# line - yes it *was* a reference to 'Bootstraps' and I am so happy that at least one person picked up on it! Very clever... I got pirates as an early Cristmas present and I adore it! Well done for realising! And the whole thing about Aragorn being the one to draw Legolas' spirit is me - rather bluntly - paving the way to saying that he will become a great healer. And please don't not (double negative, I am fully aware) put in your inklings and ideas about where I'm going with things etc. They give me ideas and lets me know that you're on the ball! I don't really understand what you mean about feeling more regret than guilt... I think I know what you mean but... please take the time out to explain it to me in your next review and I'll tell you! Cheers.  
  
Anyway, sorry and I hope you like! Quick note, this is a chapter really comprised of vignettes and short scenes depicting the rocky road to recovery and feelings of other characters etc. They are all in order, but don't necessarily run smoothly from one another. The next chapter, though, I can assure you, is as one bit. With barely any shifting... stuff. = Ha, how eloquent am I? When's that English exam....?  
  
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Lord Elrond had to practically run to keep up with Fienngil as the Star Prince raced ahead of him. The dark-haired lord had arrived at the Mirkwood palace only a few moments beforehand to find Fienngil waiting for him, buzzing with nervousness. Fienngil had only acknowledged Elrond with a dip of his fair head before he had whirled and strode off, leaving the exhausted twins, who had not rested in about four days, quickly behind him. Elrond had not been told the condition of either his son or Legolas - Andariun and Arianduil had been panicked when they had arrived in Rivendell, and all they could tell him was that neither showed any signs of waking - and so it was no small wonder that his heart beat wildly in his chest when he thought of the potential condition of the two young beings.  
  
They rounded a corner, and came upon an odd scene. In the corridor - with the door they were gathered about closed stubbornly off to them - was almost all of the Mirkwood Royal children, sitting on the floor or in the deep window sill opposite the oaken-door, or stood and leaning against the wall. As soon as they saw him, Esladiya and Aricesla jumped from the window sill and ran to hug their godfather; Niandias and Ithilmir flashed him a greatful, relieved smiles; Evylenn kept her respectful distance, not really that familiar with the Lord of Imladris and a little intimidated by him, and Tusinduil, nodding to the closed door, told him, "They're in there." The Royal children were not allowed to enter the room, for reasons the King was keeping to himself.  
  
Elrond did not pause and opened the door, stepping into a heated room. The first thing to jump to his attention was his youngest son, sitting next to the large bed, wrapped all up in blankets that swathed his shoulders and dwarfed his figure. Aragorn, realising his father had finally come to aid them, jumped up at once, blankets falling to the floor about him, and immediately barrelled into the elven lord, almost hidden in the hug which Elrond gave him, who was busy thanking the Valar that his child was alive and awake. The elf briefly forgot that only half of his worries were eased - so happy he was that Aragorn seemed to be fine - and for a minute could not understand why the ranger's body suddenly heaved with barely-controlled sobs in his arms, but he was sharply reminded that all was not as well as it seemed when his eyes caught sight of Legolas and he discovered the reason for his son's upset.  
  
The fair prince was caught up in spasms of pain, agony rippling through him as his elven body fought to restart and repair itself, to try and recover from the drastic shut-down state it had previously been in. He was captured repeatedly by acute knife-stabs in his abdomen which curled his body protectively in on itself; and a pin-like, continuous sensation of needles pricking all the muscles of his body made Legolas writhe where he lay to try and evade it, twisting the sheets of his bed into knots. There was a heavy aching in his chest, his heart and lungs labouring constantly to keep going and not simply give up as they had done so many times before, which made Legolas gasp in pain and his hand periodically clutch at the deep neckline of his night-shirt, as if trying to grasp the troublesome organs and prevent them from hurting him so; and a fire seemed to swell inside his skull, fevering his brow and making his loose golden hair stick to his neck with salty moisture, ensuring that he never fully reached consciousness and was now very rarely in a lucid world. He writhed and shook, gasped and let out half-screams and weak moans of agony.  
  
Elrond felt his eyes widen as he looked upon the sorry state, and he breathed in sharply, pain assaulting his heart all of a sudden. He glanced up, and met the helpless gaze of the King of Mirkwood who stood, hand leaving his child's back. Thranduil smiled weakly, and his bluey-grey eyes softened at the sight of his good friend. "Mellon nin," he said, and moved to embrace the elven lord, "thank Iluvatar you have come."  
  
"What happened?" asked Elrond, hugging him swiftly then moving away to fix him with a concerned eye.  
  
"There is a lot to explain... Legolas' body had almost shut down when your - might I say here - brilliant and extremely talented son," despite himself, it was here that Thranduil shot a favourably-amused glance at Aragorn, "drew him from it... Now, my healers are as capable as any others, but you are far more experienced with this sort of condition than they, and they have... " Thranduil swallowed the hard lump of something that had collected in the back of his throat, "... *refrained* from doing anything to help my son because they were unsure of themselves and thought it best to let you handle the situation." The King could feel his temper rising, though he knew it was no fault of Lord Elrond's that his son was suffering, and he fought to restrain himself - it was just so hard to see his youngest child in pain, and it tore at his heart so that he was desperate for Elrond to start, to help Legolas. He cleared his throat completely, and decided it would be diplomatic not to look at the Head Healer, Felrofin, who stood silently in the corner of the room, so instead carried on, "Forgive me, but please do something to help him... *anything*."  
  
Elrond nodded kindly, understanding how hard it must be for his good friend to stand by, totally helpless, whilst Legolas was suffering. He moved towards the bed, and sat down upon it, careful not to jar the prince. First things were first, and he reached out a gentle hand and placed it upon Legolas' hot forehead. Immediately, the archer went limp, all of his jerking movements ceasing at once. "Adar, what did you do?" asked Aragorn at once, starry grey eyes wide and slightly panicked at the reaction of his best friend.  
  
"Do not fret, I have merely suspended the connection between mind and body for a brief while, just so I can assess him without causing him further damage."  
  
"Could you keep him like that?" asked Thranduil, frowing and trying not to wince at the labourious, harsh breathing of his son: it sounded as though the very breath the unconscious Legolas inhaled grated his lungs and choked him, for even though he was now still, his breath stuttered and wheezed. It had been that way before, but now Legolas was motionless, Thranduil noticed his breathing even more. "Without pain I mean...?"  
  
Lord Elrond shook his dark head regretfully, "I am afraid not, this state can only be temporary else the effects of it end up being far more damaging than the initial injury." ~Having said that~ he mentally added as he gently unwound the bandage and splint from Legolas' right upper arm and shoulder ~this injury couldn't get *much* worse~ The wound was still very ugly, though the Mirkwood healers had apparently done a fine job with the surgery, and setting the obviously broken bone. Elrond looked at Felrofin, who he had met numerous times before when his son and Legolas had done harm to themselves, as seemed to be their wont. "Could you please tell me the condition of the wound, and what you treated it with?"  
  
Felrofin at once stood straighter, and his hands unconsciously came crossed in front of him, as though her were a small elfling school-child, being told to stand in front of the class and recite a song. "Yes, my lord... it was a first-degree Warg wound: the bone of the prince's upper arm was broken very badly and uncleanly, yet we managed to remove all splinters of bone from it, making doubly sure there were none left behind. But I am afraid that the muscle of the upper arm are torn in many places, and in this case, a lot of the main muscle has been ripped fully away from the bone. We treated this specific part of the wound with Emsill and Relroot paste, and set the bone to heal properly... and that's all we could really do- "  
  
"You have done well," Elrond assured the healer with a small smile. "No infection," though the wound was still raw and ugly, it was clear to the healer of Rivendell that it was not actually inflamed. Satisfied, he nodded once more, "Legolas will need to put a lot of work into building the strength of his right arm back up again."  
  
"But that is the arm he shoots and fights with, not to mention writes and plays the flute with," Aragorn could not hold back this strangled claim as he stumbled towards his father, tripping rather ungracefully over the blankets he had dropped earlier and forgotten about. "Will he be able to... you know, carry on?" It would be devastating to the archer if he were to lose the use of his main arm - of course, it would not stop him in a sword fight (Aragorn was confident that Legolas could take on any orc coming at him with *both* hands tied behind his back), but he would never be able to fire an arrow again... and this would knock the wind out of him for definate.  
  
Elrond comforted his son with a smile and a nod, beginning to re-wrap the damaged limb, which had begun shaking again, "If he works at it, the dexterity of the hand and the power of it's grip will only suffer a slight deficiency... which is utterly understandable," he added after seeing the expressions that flickered across Aragorn and Thranduil's faces. "Once he's completed all the physiotherapy I'm planning to throw his way, it will not really effect his ability in a fight or hinder the execution of anything he wants to do all that much... and, if I know Legolas, this one set-back will not deter him any - he'll be fine."  
  
Thranduil did not look entirely convinced, but he did nod, wanting desperately to take comfort in the words of his friend and to find a hope at the end of the whole sorry state. Aragorn, however, always believed everything his father said, and so did not even begin to question what he had been told. He grinned slightly with relief.  
  
"Other than the wound, though - is he... is he all right?" asked the King, still worried by the harshness of his son's breath.  
  
Elrond hid his smile: if only Legolas was awake to see how tender his father's thoughts were for him, and how much he loved him with every pulse of his heart. Elrond had, many times, been the one to listen to Legolas as he poured out his insecurities and worries onto welcome ears... the Lord knew that the proud young prince very rarely went to anyone with his problems, not liking to let them know he had any weaknesses at all, but Elrond, after a long period of time, had managed to attain the prized position of being the person Legolas came to when troubled. And it seemed that most of the prince's worry, indecision or alternative fury - general upset, really - came from the source of his father, through one reason or another, but usually coming down to accidental bad communication between the two. But Elrond had just caught a glimpse of the amount of love his good friend held for his youngest son, and all he could say was that it was purely breathtaking.  
  
Checking once more that Legolas was unconscious by placing his hand to the flushed forehead once more, Elrond gently turned the young prince over onto his side, pushing a little upon his narrow back until the archer's fair head lolled forward on his pillow and golden hair fell down one side of the bed. He then pushed the light, green shirt the prince was wearing up to expose a skinny back, bathed in sweat and heated to touch: Lord Elrond grimaced slightly as he pressed his pointed ear a little left of the jutting spine of Greenleaf's back. Thranduil and Aragorn watched, anxious as the Lord frowned as he listened intently. After a while Elrond straightened, pulling down the light shirt to cover the pale back once more, and rolling the dead-weight of the prince back to his previous position. "It is fairly simple: his breathing seems forced and painful... well... because it is..."  
  
"Adar!" cried Aragorn, shocked that his father was speaking so bluntly and glancing at Thranduil, to gauge a reaction.  
  
But Elrond held up a hand to stop his son protesting further. "Peace, Estel... his lungs have suffered more than a few... *halts* since you were found?" At the ranger's nod, Elrond smiled a little, "Well then, they are bound to be sore and reluctant to carry out their duty. I should not worry, he may be very breathless and weak as he recovers, but I can assure you that they will recover fully and Legolas will be fine... this is all a natural process." He looked to his son's best friend once more, and gently stroked his thumb across his pale, heated forehead. Elrond sighed regretfully, heart aching that the young being was in so much suffering, "I wish we were able to give him something for the pain his body is causing him... but, alas, his body needs not to be given any further excuses to cease it's healing. The sooner we get this is all over, the quicker we shall have him back with us again." The mighty elven lord stood, and looked at his friend and son with kind but sad, deep blue eyes:  
  
"We merely have to wait this one out."  
  
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Aragorn shifted a little in his seat, only just realising that his backside was swiftly becoming numb. He had been sat there, silent and still, loyally beside the bed of his best friend, for all of that morning and most of the afternoon. Legolas' family and others who cared very much for the prince had come periodically, but had always been prematurely dragged away by some matter or other that needed attending to - but Aragorn had remained a constant, and simply refused to leave the bedside. People had, after a long time, given up on trying to get him to rest.  
  
Legolas had much improved from the night before, when there had seemed to be no hope in sight. Spasms of pain still grabbed him regularly, and his breathing was still very thready and weak, and he had yet to return to the world of the fully-conscious... but it was obvious to all that he was slowly getting a little better. An indication of this being that King Thranduil was actually allowing Legolas' brothers and sisters to enter the room!  
  
The notion that Legolas was getting better made the ranger's heart fair near burst from his chest, and he could not wait for his best friend to recover enough to start talking... for then, Aragorn would be able to tell Legolas how very sorry he was and beg for his forgiveness. There was still a crushing sense of regret and guilt that bowed the young man's head... perhaps this was part of the reason Aragorn was permenantly to be found by Legolas' bedside? He felt it was his duty to be there?  
  
He sniffed mournfully - even with stuffed up sinuses, the melancholy he felt was almost able to be tasted in the air surrounding him. He gazed at Legolas' now-still form and sighed heavily and with frustration, wishing he were able to do something to try and speed his recovery... do something to help... *anything*.  
  
Aragorn didn't know why he thought it would achieve anything, but nonetheless, he reached out and tenderly brushed back a stray lock of golden hair from the pale but peaceful face, vaguely hoping that this simple move might motivate Legolas' body to open his eyes - he reckoned that at that moment, he would instantly become the happiest man alive if he saw his best friend's sparkling green eyes light up with amusement, as they had done so often during their long friendship. But, alas, Legolas remained stubbornly unaware of Aragorn's presence.  
  
The ranger sighed gustily, and withdrew his hand sharply, tucking it back under his crossed arms, angered momentarily with himself that he had gotten his hopes up at all.  
  
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The door to the room opened, making Tusinduil, Esladiya and Aragorn all jump as they had not expected anyone to join them at that moment: everyone else had to work all day through one way or another, and though no one was very pleased about this, they grudgingly understood and got on with it - though it was gathered by all in the palace that the Royal family reserved the right to complain about such an injustice at any given moment they chose to.  
  
The three looked up to see Lord Elrond quietly entering the room, and they saw him stop with amazement. His wise face seemed to light up as his gaze caught upon Legolas in his bed, laying on his uninjured side, partially curled up. "He has moved," stated the elven lord, deep blue eyes shining suddenly with the light of a thousand stars as he immediately moved towards the bed. Could this be true?  
  
Esladiya beamed at her godfather, beautiful with the light about her as radiant as the sun after which she was named. "He has been shifting in his sleep all morning! And not merely through evasion of pain! Isn't that brilliant news? The fact that he's moving is a good thing, isn't it?" The Sun Princess was so desperate for her littlest brother to come back to them all that she was jumping at anything, any chance, hoping to find it a good sign.  
  
"Of course, Dian Annor [Little Sun], it means that he is that much closer to waking up fully," Tusinduil answered his younger sister excitedly before Elrond was able to, knowing enough to rejoice over that fact and share it, slinging an arm about her petite shoulders and giving her a one-armed hug. The Rivendell elf favoured him with a smile and a nod, indicating he was correct, joy at Legolas' most obvious sign of recovery evident across his wise face.  
  
"He's still having spasms though... he's still in pain... and I don't like the way his breath sounds at all," Aragorn remarked gloomily from where he stood by the window to the balcony, tossing the comment over his shoulder. He turned away again after he had said this, fixing his gaze on some point past the glass and on the wall of tree trunks far beyond. Lord Elrond saw Esladiya and Tusinduil exchange suddenly-downcast looks, before their gazes simultaneously dropped to their folded hands in their laps, as though they were embarrassed for having such a foolish hope at all.  
  
But Elrond would simply not stand for this. He caught the Crown Prince's eye and indicated for him and his sister to leave for a moment, so he could have a time alone with his son. Tusinduil understood and caught Esladiya's slim arm and gently pulled her to her feet and from the room, but not before she had bestowed a sweet kiss on Legolas' forehead. Then they were gone.  
  
Elrond turned his attention to his youngest son. "Estel," he said, voice uncharacteristically stern and arms folded across his strong chest. "Turn about and look at me, please."  
  
Aragorn immediately knew by the tone of his father's voice that he had done something wrong, and quickly obeyed, arms dropping to his sides from being similarly crossed across his chest - but not once did he drop his gaze and look away from the hard blue orbs of Elrond.  
  
Elrond walked steadily up to Aragorn, but it was only when the mighty lord was stood directly in front of his son that his expression softened. "Estel, that was uncalled for, don't you think?" The ranger seemed about to answer, but then found he was unable to, and so closed his mouth again, so Elrond continued, "You should mayhap team up with Ithilmir, who also seems to have lost all hope... the two of you could do a great deal in making the Royal family a little more miserable and the situation a little worse- "  
  
"I could not do anything more to worsen this situation! I've already done enough!" Aragorn cried without really meaning to. He realised what he had said, and immediately his mouth clamped shut and he looked down to the floor. Elrond did not say anything, as his son expected him to, but Aragorn obliged the silent question with an answer, "It is my fault that he's here, and suffering so - I don't... I mean I *do* want him to wake, and everything... of *course* I do - "Aragorn was stumbling over his words, a true indication if any that he was really upset. "But... I cannot bear to... to face him when - *if*... if he wakes up... " He faltered again, but could not bring himself to look at his father, feeling shame cascading down upon him like a waterfall from all sides.  
  
Elrond merely looked at Aragorn steadily. After a moment of silence, where the only sounds to be heard in the room was Legolas' laboured breathing and Aragorn's quick-paced one, chest heaving with emotion, he spoke: "Estel, I know everything, I know what happened..." At the ranger's shocked look, grey eyes wide when his dark head shot up, he smiled slightly, "Your friend, the elf-maiden Evylenn, I believe, came to me last night and told me what you had told her... she was *concerned* for you, Estel," he added, seeing the small look of anger that flashed across the young man's face at the thought of betrayal by one of his closest friends. "I know what happened, and I have thought about it very seriously, and I have come to the conclusion that you are not to blame for this whole situation."  
  
Aragorn looked at his father, hardly daring to believe him. He breathed in and out once... twice... "Really?" he asked after a pause, voice very small and humble. He always believed the truth in what his father told him, and that was the only reason why a small flicker of hope lit up his heart suddenly.  
  
The lord nodded his dark head with earnestness, "You are not to blame for what has happened - circumstances could not have changed by any action of yours... you were in trouble from the moment you were accosted by the Wargs. And when Legolas wakes up, he shall tell you that as well... he might mayhap beat you for your foolishness in this matter, but..."  
  
The ranger felt like half of the weight of guilt and regret had been lifted from his heart... and though he knew he would not be eased until Legolas himself woke, and Aragorn had apologised over and over to him, and Legolas forgave him... the notion that his father believed he had not done anything wrong made his breathing a little less difficult, the tension constricting his chest loosening a little. His father bestowed him with another kind smile and, reaching out, gathered his son to him, hugging him tight. And Aragorn felt completely safe and almost content.  
  
They broke apart and grinned a little at each other. A mumbled moan drifted across to them from Legolas' bed, and they turned to find the prince shifting a little more, stretching his legs out slightly in his sleep and turning his head further into the pillow it lay upon. His eyes shifted beneath their heavy lids, obviously struggling to open. "He's trying to wake up," Aragorn remarked softly, but didn't move further in case it was just another heart-leaping disappointment.  
  
It was... Legolas failed to awaken fully, and sank quickly back down into obscure obliviousness. Aragorn attempted to hide his bitter disappointment from his father... but he knew it wasn't likely that Elrond hadn't noticed it. Elrond had, but as usual, he refrained from adressing it. After a while, it was Aragorn who was the first to talk. "Evylenn's incredibly frightened of you, you know that?"  
  
After a moment - when he had taken in what had just been said - Elrond chuckled suddenlyand hugged his son closer.  
  
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Legolas knew there was something beyond endless white. There had to be: his logical mind, though not working at it's best at that exact moment, still simply couldn't accept that the world was comprised of endless white. He remembered things other than white... fair enough, they were vague, but they certainly weren't white.  
  
And yet white was what he faced.  
  
How very confusing.  
  
He was sure he remembered other things... trees, for one. The white didn't upset him as much if he thought about trees, or the way leaves sounded in the breeze, or the smell of the forest in which he lived. *Aha*! He realised he lived in forest: now he was getting somewhere! He was making progress. A familiar face came to mind, cutting the endless white cleanly in half... it was stern and more than a little intimidating, but Legolas knew he loved it, and could trace all the lines and curves of the face from memory. It was his father... and his father was Thranduil, King of Eryn Lasgalen. Fuzzy, disconnected noise came with this face, and they were immediately associated together... the noise was a deep, booming sort of sound... and if Legolas listened hard enough, he could understand that it was a voice. A very familiar voice.  
  
Legolas concentrated very hard, attempting to fill the endless white with other faces he knew and loved. There was the strong faces of his eldest brothers, Tusinduil and Fienngil; the maternally-kind one of Niandias; the eternally-grinning, rosy-cheeked faces of the twins, which were also acompanied with noises... laughter, it was laughter that Legolas knew very well. Then there was Ithilmir's pale beauty; Aricesla's cuttingly- sarcastic, mocking smile and finally the beautiful Esladiya, whose own soft voice filled the endless white void as well . There were more, and he struggled to focus his attentions - his mother's much-loved face immediately joined the others, gorgeous and full of love, though Legolas was a little saddened that at that moment he could not put a voice to her face... but then came Evylenn's and that cheered him greatly, grinning, pretty, amused and concerned... then came Aragorn's, handsome and strong and full of mirth and friendship, and a deep chuckling came with his face.  
  
The prince's heart gave a funny sort of flip in his chest, and his fuzzy mind wondered vaguely at the horrible sense of urgency coursing through him all of a sudden. Aragorn... where was Aragorn? He needed to find his best friend... he was unsure why... there had been something Legolas was supposed to do: he was meant to... he was meant to look after Aragorn - that was it! He was supposed to be looking after Aragorn. Then where was Aragorn!?  
  
A horrid sense of panic rose in his chest, and his breathing, laboured at best, was instantly affected. A sharp pain grabbed him in his abdomen as a consequence of his agitated thoughts, and he twisted in on himself slightly to try and prevent the sensation, shaking hand grasping at his stomach.  
  
Suddenly his eyes opened and he started a little: he had not expected that! After a fair while of trying to force them to open, they had done it without him meaning to. But success anyway! Legolas felt triumph, but it was quickly swept aside and relegated as the pain battered him again, and he gasped once more. Slowly, his painful eyes recognised things other than white. A blurred outline formed slowly, gradually clearing more and more. Through the fog of pain that had befallen his mind, Legolas made out the smiling face of his father, just like the one that had filled the endless white previously... his father meant he was home! He was safe! Nothing else mattered to him at that moment, because he was home, with his family, and nothing could get at him when he was with his family... he *knew* that, had always known that.  
  
Satisfied and exhausted with his minor triumph, Legolas let the endless white wash over him once more, actually relishing the obliviousness it gave him: he could not longer feel the pain that had afflicted him when he was trying to wake. But one thought, one nagging splinter of worry, did stubbornly stay in the back of his mind, and prevented him from sinking as deep into the whiteness as he had been before. It actually saved him, bringing him that closer to the breaking the surface of consciousness and escaping the sea of whiteness. This thought was:  
  
Where was Aragorn?  
  
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Hope you liked that, it was gonna be longer, but I ran out of time... please let me know what you thought. I reckon there'll either be one or two chapters till the end. Sad, I know.  
  
More reviewer responses:  
  
Star-Stallion: I know exactly what you mean about Peter Jackson trying to hint at a long friendship between Aragorn and Legolas during Return. My friend gets annoyed with me when we watch any of the LotR films together, because whenever anything happens between them - like if they look at one another for reassurance, make the other one laugh etc - I go 'SEE! Best friends! What have I just been saying?' She played war with me in the cinema when the 'Hannon-le' bit at the end came on because I was wacking her on the arm just to get my point across. Ooops. lol. Ditto with the bit with the Black Gate and him going '*ARAGORN*!' I cried then, too... actually, come to think of it... I cried through the majority of that film...  
  
juz wonderin: Whenever I read the books, I always imagined Legolas with bright green eyes... so that is what I have given him in all my stories, regardless of the film.  
  
Templa Otmena: Seriously, now... you're far too kind to be a reviewer of mine! Lol. I am so glad you liked Aragorn drawing Legolas - I didn't know whether anyone would, but I did try to explain the way I imagined it as best I could. So happy you thought it was that good. I am also thrilled you like my original characters! THANKYOU!  
  
Lisienna: Your reviews really did make me chuckle. I dind;t kill Legolas because I had only just done another story about his death, and we don't yet know which way I am going to take my next Mirkwood fic... so, I bailed and kept him alive. I thought I'd managed to get the situation hairy enough, however, to prevent people being disappointed. Plus, I thought I might just have been lynched had I killed him - I'd also started the story off as a short one, and that was really not the direction I was intending to take it at all. Thanks for your very amusing reviews. As for Legolas sleeping with his eyes closed - well, he's not sleeping: he's injured and I maintain that when elves are ill/injured/heartbroken/exhausted etc, their eyes close in an uncharacteristic fashion, kay?  
  
nikki: I feel the same way you do, and while that is a really good idea... I don't think I'd be able to quite pull it off! I don't want this story to end, though.  
  
Shauna: You switching sides on me now, are you? You were very abusive to 'poor Aragorn' only a few chapters ago... you seem to hold a lot more sympathy for the poor, guilty ranger now! Lol.  
  
Thankyou to everyone who has read and reviewed, adn even though I haven't been able to respond to all of you, know that I appreciate you so very VERY much! Reviewer award goes to mogcat for such lovely reviews for both this story and Vignettes... thanks for bothering with me! 


	10. Reconciliation

A/N: I am very sorry for the delay you all experienced for this chapter... but this time, it was no mere incompetance on my part that made this such a long-time coming. No, I have had exams, my friends - surely you can all now understand why this has taken so long to be written and posted? I shall tell you whether I failed them all with my next chapter ( don't think I'm joking! It's a very real possibility!) And the past two weeks have been filled by them, and the week before was me desperately cramming all the stuff I should have already learnt! But the chapter is here now. Second last one, pets... whatever will I do without you all when this is over, eh? Lol. Reviewer responses:  
  
marbienl: I LOVE that bit where Jack shows his scars in PotC! Your ideas for Aragorn's guilt and regret are amazing, but sadly, it's too late to include them... I do, however, always enjoy reading your predictions etc. and greatly appreciate them. Don't stop! Even if they do spoil the plot! As for all of Legolas' brothers and sisters... well, they're my characters, and to me each one has their own personality, way of handling things etc., so I can just write them and not forget what I'm doing... but I can see how it could get confusing for others. In my next Mirkwood fic, they will be included (I can't get enough of them, sorry!), but they won't... *hold* scenes, if you know what I mean... they won't be dominate, the fellowship will. And you might even get to see a bit of Evylenn and Legolas action, you never know! Thranduil: I just had to give a reason why so many think he's a bad father!  
  
Templa Otmena: I personally love to write the relationship between Thranduil and Elrond. I don't know... I think I imagine them as being a little like Aragorn and Legolas when they were younger... best friends who have (unfortunately) grown apart but enjoy one another's company immensely. I don't know... I reckon I make relationships a bit too happy-clappy myself, but as long as you're not complaining! And I can't even begin to tell you how badly I know I have done in these exams... I don't care anymore, though... they can have my soul!  
  
Elainor and Nikki: I, personally, have been unconscious many times (through one reason or another... sometimes it's best not to even ask!), and while sometimes it can be swirling blackness, or a sort of blank void that you can't remember at all... it can sometimes be total and utter white! It's really odd! Obviously, I embellished it a little with the faces/voices etc... lol.  
  
Katie Hayes: Thanks for the contribution! I am honoured that you've stuck with me now! Lol.  
  
Emma: I am very sorry if I sounded angry... fair enough that you are a purist, but you have to understand that this is all merely *my* opinions and my imagination - I am in no way saying that this is exactly what happens. But I kinda thought that that was what writing fanfiction was all about? Going down paths in your mind that you wouldn't usually... I mean, that's why I read other peoples' stories - so I can read more about such wonderful characters etc. But I know it's not the way the story goes, you know? Anyway, didn't mean to sound hostile... and as for the slash issue - it's up to other people what they wish to write about, but I think I sort of agree with you... *I* personally am *completely* unable to write LotR slash... I have a mental block! Lol, so no worries there! Thanks for the support and keep reviewing!  
  
And to everyone else who reviewed and I have not responded: I am very sorry but it cannot be helped. There are far too many of you (not that I'm complaining) and it would take an age, and you'd all be really bored of me.... So I shall say it here: THANKYOU SO VERY MUCH FOR THE WONDEROUS REVIEWS AND RESPONSES!  
  
Ahem. Yes, well... that got the point across, I thought. Now, onto the story: nice longish one again!  
  
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It was a blazing pain in the side of his chest which jolted Legolas out of his blissful sleep this time, and he woke with a start, half-lidded eyes coming into sharp focus. He began to panic, as he always seemed to do when waking recently, and was unable to think where he was nor how he had gotten there. His sluggish silvery-green eyes flew fretfully about his surroundings, but before he could really become upset or stressed, his gaze fell upon something that always let him know he was safe, reminding him of where he was. It was the thing that was always at his side when he woke up. It was Aragorn. Although this time the son of Elrond was not looking at him or reassuring him that they were both safe and sound.  
  
Legolas smiled slightly as he looked at the ranger. Aragorn had fallen asleep: his dark head resting lightly upon his own hunched shoulder, sitting upright in his chair by the archer's bedside. A soft snoring noise came from him. Legolas chuckled softly and rolled his eyes, only to have them meet with the equally-amused, warm hazel gaze of Evylenn, who had looked up from her needlework. She nodded to him gently with a smile, understanding without fault that he was in no mood to talk and would rather drift off back to sleep, but acknowledging him in case he felt ignored (~It's frightening~ Legolas decided then ~quite how well she knows me...~), and then the elf maiden focused her attention once more on her embroidery.  
  
He looked back to the slumbering Aragorn. Legolas was glad his best friend was getting rest - the prince was concerned that the young man was fair nearly going to run himself ragged by attending to Legolas, never leaving his room. So he was greatful that he was now eased enough to rest.  
  
But all was *not* well, Legolas knew that too. Aragorn didn't think his best friend saw how awkward his movements were around the prince, or how he avoided looking at him, or how he had barely smiled since he had awoken... but Legolas *did* notice, he *did* see. Yet he could not understand it. When he spoke to the Mirkwood elf he had known all his life, Aragorn sounded oddly strained and uncomfortable, and though he was always at Greenleaf's bedside without fault, it was almost as though he didn't want to be there. It was like he didn't know how to act about the prince anymore, like something had made him forget. This idea hurt Legolas' heart more than he could care to admit... he wanted everything back to normal once more and was confused as to why it wasn't the way it had always been between the two friends. He couldn't understand why Aragorn was acting so about him, and it shook his confidence, made him falter so that he, in turn, was unsure as how to act about his best friend. Which, he guessed, most likely made the whole thing worse. He wanted to know what was going on in the stubborn, frustrating head of the ranger... but Aragorn had barely spoken five words to him... and none of them in a complete sentance.  
  
Legolas managed to refrain from sighing, but did shift his suddenly-blurred gaze away from his distant best friend quickly down to frown at his folded hands. Faint tears marred his vision a little as he idly played with the hem of the green bedsheets, and he had to concentrate on his breathing to keep it steady as his chest heaved. If Evylenn noticed - which she most likely did - she did not say a word, knowing it would only bruise the pride that ran strong and deep through the Last Prince. And he was ever thankful that she did not. Legolas did not cry very often, and when he did it was never, *ever* in the presence of any other living being. He was aware, even then, of his cheeks flushing hot in his embarrassment.  
  
But he felt so wretched then, it was impossible not to weep a little. He was weary, angry, in pain, worried, frustrated, a little frightened, and to top it all off, confused. It was this last feeling that got to him the most: he felt he wouldn't mind all the other testing trials and obstacles in his path if he could just have the old Aragorn back with him, the Aragorn he knew and loved... but that did not seem very likely the way the ranger was acting about him.  
  
Deciding swiftly that he was too tired to think about the problem anymore, and it would only make him more upset and his chest all the more tighter anyway, he turned away from the best friend who hardly seemed to know him any longer, sinking down into the soft covers of the bed and letting his watery eyes steadily drift out of focus once more. He tried hard to ignore the iron grip that seemed to hold his chest in a vice, and the aching pain in his heart. He hoped everything would be well again soon: he did not think he could bear it if relations between himself and the young man he held so dear were never repaired and returned back to the way they had always been.  
  
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"So, you see now why I have been acting the way I have - it is entirely my fault that you are in such pain... I-I mean, Valar - you could have lost the use of your right arm! I am so very, *very* sorry... And... and I do not ask you to forgive me, for I believe what I did was unforgiveable myself... You should not have a friend as bad as I... and I am sorry..." Aragorn looked up from his folded hands to Legolas as his sentance finished weakly, timbre pathetic even to his own ears. A quiet moment passed where he looked at the elf in silence, before he continued, "Perfect. Now, if I can only say that when you're awake."  
  
Legolas' green eyes were open, and he had slipped down in the bed, so it appeared he was gazing straight at Aragorn, but it was clear that he was not in the conscious world. Under normal cicumstance, it would have made Aragorn laugh that Legolas had fallen asleep with his eyes directly latched on to the ranger... but Aragorn didn't feel much like laughing then. He was taking time to try and work up enough courage to face up to his best friend, and to try and figure out what he would say when he did so, because it was clear that they could not go on as they were... It was shredding Aragorn's heart to pieces. And he knew Legolas knew there was something wrong: the elf had known him all his life, and he could spot trouble in his mind a league away. The prince had been very quiet today, more so than he had been previously... and not only with Aragorn: when Fienngil and Niandias had left the chamber that morning, they had sent questioning looks his way, perplexed as to why the usually bright and talkative elf was thoughtful and quiet, but all the ranger had done was shrug. It was all he could do.  
  
Aragorn would confront the problem soon, it was just... he couldn't stand it if Legolas turned him away. While the prince had always forgiven him for things in the past, and was an extremely sympathetic being who didn't seem capable of holding grudges, Aragorn was unsure as to whether the prince knew it was his best friend's fault at that moment. Greenleaf might not have been told the whole story... and if he reacted badly to the news that it was *Aragorn* to blame, he might feel betrayed at the human's apparent incapability of being selfless. Aragorn was utterly disgusted with his weak actions in the forest of Mirkwood, and saw no reason why Legolas should not be as well.  
  
The door to the chamber swung open, breaking his depressing thoughts, and Aragorn looked around to see King Thranduil enter in a flush of deep red robes and flowing silver cloak. The dark-haired elf looked tired and heart- weary, but happy, and he smiled warmly at the young man, falling into the other chair beside the bed with a heavy sigh. Aragorn grinned a little, grey eyes sparkling twilight. "Hard day?" he asked, with perhaps a little more cheek than was entirely appropriate to address a very powerful King with.  
  
Thranduil just sent him a scathing look, deep blue-grey eyes dark and menacing, and he wisely decided to hold his tongue thenceforth. There was something about the King's attitude that told the ranger he wanted to be left alone with his son, so he swung his booted legs from their place resting against the wooden bed frame, clapped a friendly hand on the elder elf's shoulder as he passed, and left the room.  
  
Thranduil let his gaze wander the familiar room when Aragorn left, bathed in sunlight that was streaming in through the gorgeously-decorated glass of the large windows, until his eyes came back to his son. A warm sense of relief balmed his heart, and he thought suddenly about how lucky he had been to have this whole situation end so relatively well: he could have lost Legolas completely, and with it, a chunk of his heart would always after be dead and withered. He could have lost one of the most important things in his life, one of the things he woke up in Middle-earth for. Looking at the Legolas now, it was wonderfully plain that he *was* getting better - his natural light was glowing once more, a little dimmer than usual but nevertheless there; his typical sparkle was again to be found in his silver-shone green eyes and frowns of pain marring his proud brows were becoming fewer and further between.  
  
The King smiled softly, and gently reached out a tender hand, brushing back a silken-gold bang from the peaceful, innocent face of his youngest child. No matter how many horrific battles and long years Legolas had to his name, no matter how many friends he had witnessed sacrificed nor how many orcs he had fought nor how many ambushes he had orchestrated as the leader of countless bands of warriors, Thranduil would always think of the Last Prince as his Little Leaf. The young elf had grown into a fine and fierce warrior, well known for his skills, and someone Thranduil was proud to be merely *connected* with, let alone be the father of such a wonder. Though relatively young in elven years, many of Legolas' heroic deeds in war and confrontation were renowned throughout the elven world, every realm knew his name and attatched it to a gentle nature but fierce passion, and not merely because he was the son of the King of Eryn Lasgalen... that was something which actually counted against the young archer, and perhaps was the reason he was now so skilled in the art of warfare.  
  
Legolas had always been frustrated that many discounted him as a spoilt prince before he could have any chance of proving himself. The idea that the Royal children should waited on and pampered was preposterous in the Mirkwood realm, the King of which had morals and principles based upon absolute independency - it was the way it had always been in the northern forest. But many could not know this, and Legolas hated the misconception of his siblings - but most especially of himself - that they were good only for the name of the Oaks and nothing else, and worked hard to throw off this widely-accepted undervaluation. And by the Stars, he had done it, becoming leader to one and all, and a figure-head for the warriors of Mirkwood.  
  
As Thranduil stroked his youngest child's golden hair fondly, Legolas stirred a little in his sleep, silver-green eyes flickering until they focused and he breathed in deeply, waking. He saw his father sitting over him, and grinned, and croaked, throat a little dry from disuse, "I thought I told you to go and run your kingdom, my lord?" Legolas had become mildly exasperated with his father when every time he had woken the dark-haired elf was to be found fussing over him, and had expressed his worry that the realm was being neglected in order to try and set his father's priorities right once more. He was touched at his father's loving administrations, but still...  
  
Thranduil's deep blue eyes twinkled grey, "Aye, that was yesterday. But today, I have been plauged with the one constant question coming from our people: is the prince going to be well? You should see how many care for you, Dian Las [Little Leaf] - they gather in the courtyard from dawn till dusk each day... and I am here now, merely because I had to check your health in order to report back to them."  
  
Legolas chuckled, and moved so he was deeper in his masses of warm blankets, gingerly trying not to jar his still-painful arm, not believing his father, "Aye, that'll be it." There was a pleasant silence that fell upon them, then, with Legolas' eyes fixed on some distant point as his smile faded and with Thranduil watching him.  
  
Thranduil's eyes narrowed, dark brows drawing together a little, "What is wrong, Legolas?" he asked quietly after a pause, for he knew something was bothering his child - he had always been able to see straight through him. Legolas' face had fallen suddenly: though still fairly stoic in his emotions, countless years spent with Aragorn as his best friend had taken their toll upon the archer's ability to keep his emotions hidden... the elf's control upon his expressions had deteriorated almost to the level of a human's, so he now grinned wider and frowned deeper than most elves. He also let on more of the sadness in his heart, which was exactly what Thranduil was seeing now. He had been mildly upset by something the day before, as well, and the King suspected it had nothing to do with how long he had been told by Elrond he would have to work at physiotherapy for his arm.  
  
Legolas, as though startled and embarrassed that his father had caught him out, tapered ears fhading pink for a merest second, "Oh... nothing, adar." He forced a half-hearted smile that did not reach his eyes, though he knew that it did not fool the King for even one moment, "I only... drifted away for a second... my apologies - were you saying something?"  
  
As Thranduil began speaking once more over matters of little or no importance, obviously deciding he did not wish to broach the subject of his son's melancholic behaviour, Legolas' troubled mind wandered once more. He had been thinking of Aragorn, and wondering why the man wasn't beside him, as was usual upon him waking... not that it would have been pleasant if he had been: seeing as the ranger didn't seem to be even talking to the prince. But Legolas had, up till then, taken *some* comfort in the fact that Aragorn put whatever was distancing him mentally from the elf aside, and was there in body, at least. Mayhap things were even worse than Legolas initially thought? A sharp pang pained his heart at this thought, and an unfamiliar sense of dread rose in his stomach... what was wrong?!  
  
He had no answers.  
  
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Aragorn stopped outside the door of Legolas' chamber, and visibly steeled himself, breathing in deeply and squaring his slim shoulders. Things between himself and his former-best friend had rapidly deteriorated and become so dire that he actually disliked spending time with Legolas... although this admission made him feel thoroughly horrid, and made a shameful sense of guilt rise in the pit of his stomach, he reckoned that Legolas most probably thought exactly the same thing. Whenever they were in the same room, the tension was awful and the silences long and awkward, both avoided looking at the other, to the point where Aragorn thought that his presence probably made Legolas so stressed that it was most likely delaying his full recovery. The ranger had seen Legolas flinch when Aragorn entered the room, and not only because of the anticipated lack of friendship and warmth, but because his shoulders unconsciously tightened and hunched, so uncomfortable he was when Aragorn was near, and this pained the wound of of his right shoulder.  
  
Though the young ranger wished dearly to right the wrong that was hurting them both - he believed that their most recent experience together should have brought them *closer* together, not sundered them completely apart - the situation now seemed too far gone for him to have any hope of regaining the unfeasibly-strong friendship they once had. And he understood that this seperation was born almost entirely from his own doing: dallying about apologising and making things thrice-times worse.  
  
He opened the door, eyes already on his boots, and made a great deal of fuss in shutting the door behind him as he entered the cold room, as if to delay the moment when he would have to look at the prince. When he turned, eyes flashing up to the bed for a mere blink, he was surprised to find the Legolas did not occupy it. He looked about the room quickly, heart leaping momentarily into his throat despite his most recent thoughts of lost friendship, and quickly spotted the open window, light gauze curtains drifting lazily inwards on the crisp, winter breeze. Walking swiftly to it and out into the wooden verandah, he found Legolas, leaning heavily against the railings on his uninjured arm, wearing his sleep-clothes despite the coldness of the winter about them, lost in thought and looking out at the iced tree trunks just beyond the clearing. His breath was coming quick to him, and he looked far paler than was either normal or good for him, and a pulse of worry ran through Aragorn's heart.  
  
The ranger came a step closer to Legolas, then paused, unnaturally unsure of himself about the archer... but this faltering movement was enough to alert the prince to his presence, and the golden-haired elf whirled round, fixing intense green eyes, shot through with silver icicles and frosted over with mithril, upon Aragorn for a second.  
  
Something unpleasant and foreign to both beings passed between them then, when their eyes locked, and it took them both aback a little.  
  
To Aragorn, Legolas seemed as cold as ice, as strong as unfeeling iron, but with all the emotion of that selfsame metal. The elf seemed more of a haughty, intimidating prince - majestically grand yet hostile, intolerant and thoroughly unkind - at that moment than he had ever appeared to be during the whole of Aragorn's life. Legolas' strong jaw was set, and his chin raised in pride, aristocratic lips set into a thin line of disgust as he looked down upon the man, just as Aragorn had always feared he would. Even though they had been best friends for many long years, Aragorn had always felt a little undeserving of the strong friendship with the elven warrior-prince... he may have been raised by elves, but that did not stop him still feeling in awe of their beauty and splendour. He had always been afraid that one day, Legolas might suddenly realise he was interacting with a mortal who was not worthy of being even spoken to by such a specimen of the Firstborn, and he would behave as many elves did towards Aragorn.  
  
And yet, to Legolas, Aragorn looked just as spiteful, but more as though fury at Legolas' apparent betrayal of the ranger's life-long friendship had burned him harshly, and made him seek justice for the tatters of a relationship that was apparently so lightly thrown aside. A powerful fire with a vigour that frightened Legolas consumed and darkened Aragorn's starry-grey eyes, turning his handsome face ugly with hate and spite. The young man's mouth was open as though to speak, but had contorted suddenly into a snarl, and he leaned forward aggressively, face taught and eyes blazing. Legolas knew how much power Aragorn unwittingly held, and how much more powerful he would become on the way to fufilling his destiny, and it was one of his worst fears that such a force of both inner and physical strength and power should be used and turned to ill-will. He had been too young to witness Isildur's betrayal first hand, but had always been taught not to trust Men, despite his friendship with Aragorn, and the suspicion of history repeating itself ran ever-strong in Mirkwood, which had been devastated by the Last Alliance and was not protected by any Ring.  
  
Legolas saw no way he could escape the fury, but attempted in any case to move past the man. Unfortunately the muscles in his calves, through disuse - as that was the first time he had gotten up and walked anywhere for quite a few days - and the icy coldness about them, cramped suddenly, and his legs buckled unexpectedly beneath his weight. He fell forward with a startled cry and Aragorn, thinking he had collapsed and reacting on instinct, caught him in his arms before he could hit the floor. Legolas immediately tensed, shocked by the closeness, seeing as they had barely even looked at each other since he had woken up. He tried desperately to stand again, to put some distance between himself and the human once more, but his legs simply refused to let him, and he stumbled again, head suddenly dizzy and body weak. Aragorn's arms unconsciously held him all the firmer, and he began to drag the elf back into the room, unsure about what else to do.  
  
Laying Legolas on his bed, Aragorn shot a quick look at him. The elf was obviously in pain, he was embarrassed and trying not to look at the ranger, breath hitching and eyes begining to brim. "Legolas, where is the pain?" Aragorn asked anxiously, not even thinking about apologies or going over what he wanted to say, for the first time in quite a while he was acting normally, wanting to help his best friend.  
  
The prince looked at him as though surprised he was even talking to him, and he stumbled a little over his answer as he replied, "M-my calves." He watched on in utter shock then as Aragorn, not saying another word, picked up one of his legs and started to massage the lower part of the limb, easing the cramping muscles with his healer's hands. The pain was almost immediately soothed, flaring up now and then and making Legolas gasp, but then fading away to less than it was before. It was a wonderful relief, and Legolas was thankful at least for that. But then, a more painful feeling overcame the archer's heart: even though this was the sort of thing Aragorn would do under normal cicumstances, it still felt strange and awkward at that moment. The elf's eyes filled with unexpected moisture as he thought about the friendship he had lost through reasons he couldn't comprehend, and he looked away from the pain, bringing a hand to his forehead as he tried to cover the fact he was about to cry.  
  
Aragorn glanced up for a second, and felt as though he had been punched in the stomach, Legolas looked so upset. His hands dropped immediately and ceased massaging the calve of the elf's right leg, and after a pause instead, breaking all the boundaries that had been erected between himself and his best friend, he slowly reached up and took the hand the prince had held at his forehead. Legolas was startled, and his tearful green eyes flashed silver as they caught the starry grey orbs of the young ranger, but no odd emotions or darkness passed between the two beings this time, and Aragorn held the eyes of the friend he had refused to look at for the past several days with determination. He knew what he must do, and would be damned if he didn't: he gripped Legolas' long hand in his own, and slowly brought it to the place on his chest above his heart, all the while his eyes locked firmly on the archer's.  
  
Legolas felt his eyes widen a little as he saw what Aragorn was doing, and his mouth parted as he tried to comprehend the action's meaning: Aragorn was looking at him properly, and Legolas saw no evil or anger in him, no resentment. He felt the steady but slightly quickened heartbeat of the man in his fingertips through the thin tunic Aragorn was wearing, he saw the ranger swallow nervously, and realised that he was just as anxious as himself, and had most likely been suffering the same. "Estel..." he began, but then he was suddenly unsure about what he wanted to say.  
  
But it did not matter, as it seemed that this one word, spoken after so long in silence, was enough to shatter the barriers which were holding the two friends distant: Aragorn suddenly pulled Legolas to him, and wrapped his arms as tight as he possibly could about the elf without injuring him, embracing him as though it were the last time he would be able to do so. The prince himself needed no time to think longer, and answered his best friend by curling his good arm up to rest upon the man's slim shoulder and burying his face in Aragorn's neck, breathing in the ranger smell that accompanied his friend everywhere he wandered, and always had brought comfort to Legolas. The faint smell of athelas, dampness and pipeweed. They finally were together after their disasterous misadventure, and it eased them both greatly, their hearts balmed in warmth. After a moment or so, however, Aragorn pulled away and looked down, feeling his guilt over the whole situation rear it's ugly head once more in his consciousness.  
  
His slightly flushed cheeks and uncomfortable behaviour at that moment was what made Legolas *at last* understand the reason for their seemingly- broken friendship... his large green eyes softened with sudden comprehension. Reaching out gently, he tipped the man's stubbled chin upwards, as he often did when trying to make Aragorn understand something he did not want to, to look at him, so that their eyes locked once more. At that moment he witnessed in the stotmy grey orbs of his best friend all the fear and the guilt and the upset that had strained and pressed upon the mortal during the recent days, and at that moment he knew exactly what to do to put the ranger at ease, to give him the relief he was obviously desperate to gain. Though Legolas by no means thought that any of the recent events could be blamed on Aragorn, he knew the young man well enough to know the only thing that would make him happy in such an instance - now Legolas knew what had been separating himself and Aragorn, ensuring both of them were miserable and heart-sick - everything was so easy and simply to understand and right.  
  
"Estel," he said, voice soft but authoritative, happy to speak words he knew would give comfort, "I forgive you."  
  
The look of joy and utter relief that flew across Aragorn's rugged features at that moment was to be unrivaled by anything Legolas had seen previous: it seemed as though a huge weight, as though it were the destiny of the worlds, had been lifted from the ranger's shoulders, allowing him to breathe properly for the first time in a long while. His chest heaved with emotion, and his slate-grey eyes shone with happy tears, his heart gladdened and his conscience finally, thankfully cleansed. Though, really, Aragorn knew there would be more to say on the matter at later times, mostly him explaining to Legolas exactly *how* he was to blame for all that had happened, at that moment, he cared not, and was happy to believe for just a time that he was free from guilt. It was such a wonderful feeling, he was quite prepared to indulge himself for a little while with it. Legolas merely smiled widely at him, green eyes sparkling silver diamonds and happiness, overjoyed that the deepest friendship he had ever known had not been destroyed.  
  
They both caught what the other was doing at about the same time, and both burst into laughter at the idiotic expression on each other's face, and their familiar laughter rolled out into the cold air, traveling great distances with it's strength and not fading until it reached the far tree- trunks at the end of the clearing.  
  
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Please review and tell me what you thought of this chapter: it went down a different route to the one I was expecting it to go down, but hopefully it worked out for the best! Only one more chapter left, dearies, then it's a fond goodbye from me! Wonderful blizzards enveloping the North of England at the moment, and this might affect the overall attitude and seriousness of the next, final chapter... expect humour. Review! 


	11. Return

A/N: Hello you beautiful, beautiful people!  
  
This is it, my friends, the end - NO MORE SURVIVAL AFTER THIS! It's been wonderful and I am *so* very greatful for all the amazing reviews you have so kindly written for me... hopefully I won't lose any of you with the ending of this story, and you'll come with me to other adventures etc! Sorry for the massive delay on this chapter: it seems that work culminating to relatively the same amount I have *ever* done in the whole of my life was dumped upon me recently, and with the sweet promise of more. So, sorry, but it's here now. You'll all obviously be thrilled to know that I only failed one subject in my mock-exams: Physics... but that was only 'cause I didn't revise! excuse alert!  
  
And you know that time near the beginning of this fic when I told you my brains were leaking out of my ears because I was drowning in coursework on American history and the 1920's boom? And I thought I was going mad? Well, apparently me slamming my head repeatedly on my desk was completely worth it, as I got two A-stars in History!!! Yey! English too! So, those are the extremes, with all the others landing in between. Be proud of your author, for I have worked moderately hard!!  
  
Anyway, enough of this gloating, and I will get onto the story in just a second, but I have to tell you something first. You know the next saga- length Mirkwood fic I so fervently promised a while back? The one where Legolas returns home for the first time, birnging the fellowship with him, but more than that happens? Yeah? I'm afraid it's gonna have to be put on hold for a little while... don't get me wrong, fics will still hopefully come flowing through rain and shine [and I have a rather interesting, half- return to 'Vignettes' which expands on Boromir/Aragorn/Legolas friendship and involves rain and hunting, most likely called 'Three Hunters'! And a nice touching moment between Eowyn and Legolas at Helms Deep, most likely called 'Akin Only In Grief']. However, I have just gotten to a really rather crucial part in the run up to my actual exams in May/June where I'm panicking a little (my Art exam was given out the other week... eeep...), and because of the estimated length and bulk of 'The Return Of A Prince', I'll have to defer it a while, I think. You will get it in the end, however, and I promise you it will be worth waiting for. So stick with me.  
  
More at end, but can I just say that the character Evylenn has no resemblence *at all* to me: I can most definately say that no Mary-Suism is authorized to sneak into *any* of my fics, as I hate that. Her character is not like my own, I'm pretty much at the *opposite* end of the spectrum to her when it comes to beauty etc, and let us not forget... she is a fictional character, whereas I, on the other hand, are unfortunately and unhappily real. Just clearing that up. Cheers!  
  
P.S Keep your eyes open for a minor character from 'Bathtime' making a small appearance in this chapter! Little treat for ya'll!  
  
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Aragorn walked down the corridor leading to Legolas' room easily and without haste, trying not to spill the contents of the plate he held hidden within the folds of his clothes, Evylenn was following a little way behind him, also strolling along at her own pace. The two looked at that moment like their minds were not attatched to the rest of their bodies, as their wandering was often not directed, and they weaved repeatedly right across the wide, bright corridors: but this strange behaviour was merely the product of the fact that, for the first time in quite a while, their hearts were not weighed down with unbearable worry, and their minds now had a chance to be light and carefree once more. Thoughts of Yuletide were even beginning to form, for Mirkwood forest was alive with magic at that time of year, and the elves could almost taste it on the frosty air.  
  
The swooning did, however, eventually have to be called to a halt, and Evylenn bumped heavily into Aragorn as he came to an abrupt stop in front of her. "Ouch," the elf-maiden stated without much inflection, rubbing her small nose where it had banged into the shoulder of her human friend. She glared half-heartedly up at him, large hazel eyes holding a sudden flame, "Ai... warn me next time you to do that."  
  
The ranger turned his dark head, and grinned weakly at her over the accused shoulder, "My apologies, mellon nin," he soothed, trying not to sound too patronising. "But we're here," he indicated the door to Legolas' chamber.  
  
"Oh," Evylenn's pale hand fell away from her nose, which now had a faint pink hue to it. Her gaze flickered from the door to the human, wood to ranger, back and forth. Finally she lost patience: "Well! Go on with you, then!" Aragorn flashed her a full, handsome grin, stubbled cheeks drawing up and eyes crinkling, purposefully annoying her as he opened the door and ushered her inside - she rolled her eyes typically, muttering something in elvish, but still smiled prettily all the same as he held the door open for her, and she stepped into the bright room.  
  
The chamber smelt clean and pleasant, and was lit with a wholesome glow that instantly cleared the mind and refreshed the body, glorious light of the Sun seemed to find every corner of the room, making sure no shadows strayed or played on the walls. The open windows let chilly air seep in, making the elf-maiden and the man breathe in deeply, filling their lungs with welcome freshness and the faint scent of athelas.  
  
Nearing the large bed in the centre of the room, they found Legolas once more asleep. He was finally looking healthy again - shining in every sense of the word - and it looked as though he had been sitting up and waiting for them before he'd given into his unnatural tiredness, for he was propped up almost straight, sinking a little into the plush pillows supporting him upright. His injured arm was still held tight to his chest in a sling, but Lord Elrond had begun physiotherapy with Legolas the day before yester, and had been mildly startled by the determination of the prince to get up and about as soon as possible, and the progress he had made because of it, even if that meant exhausting himself with recovery exercises, or becoming so tired after a day of physio that he could not see straight.  
  
Golden hair of silk fell in a single plait down onto his right shoulder, no longer dull with illness nor lank with sweat: Legolas had protested loudly the other day when Esladiya had taken it upon herself to wash clean and brush his tresses, saying that he did not need to be babied, if only they would let him up to do it himself in the wash-house... yet Aragorn believed his best friend to be secretly pleased with the result. Though the Last Prince was not vain, he took as much pride in his appearance as he did in the rest of his life, and Aragorn suspected the archer to be a bit embarrassed by his weakness when injured, and it was a fitting way to recover dignity. Furthermore, he'd spied Legolas' green eyes slip in and out of focus as Esladiya ran her gentle fingers through his pale hair, and knew that it couldn't have bothered him *that* much, if he was able to fall half-asleep with contentment.  
  
Aragorn sighed in mock-exasperation as he turned to the petite elf-maiden at his side, "Weariness seems to be having a way of catching up with our brave warrior lately, doesn't it?"  
  
Evylenn glared her disapproval, "Dina leadan [hush, you mortal]... let's see a human able to keep his eyes open after the events of late." At her friend's innocent grey eyes and smile, she whirled in a flush of deep- twilight velvet and starry blue skirts, 'flouncing' (as Aricesla liked to put it) indulgently to the bed of her best friend. Kneeling at one side, she gently brushed the soft, pale skin of his closest cheekbone with the back of her fingers.  
  
Eyes the colour of the Great Greenwood flickered back into reality, and the fair archer fixed her a lazy grin as he spied her. "Mae govannen, lirimaer [well met, lovely one]," he greeted her with amusement as he stretched out slightly in the bed with contentment, extending his long legs and easing his back.  
  
His best friend's laughter was enchanting and seemed to float upon the winter breeze as she dipped her head back, making her mahogany curls cascade further down her narrow back in waves when she returned with, "Aye, always the charmer." She sat quiet a moment after that, small hands folded in her lap, sparkling hazel eyes watching him as Legolas proceeded to loosen all the muscles in his body he was able to, twisting and groaning, wrapped up in sheets and disappearing into pillows. "Are you quite finished, aratonin [my champion]?" she eventually asked, sarcasm positively dripping from her sweet voice, when Legolas had finally stilled for longer than a breath.  
  
"For the moment, yes," Legolas grinned cheekily back up at her, golden brow raised as if in challenge. Evylenn laughed fondly once more, taking his hand in affection, holding onto the strong thumb - powerful after lifetimes of practising archery - and littlest finger in an amusingly childlike manner as their eyes latched once more. To Legolas then, Evylenn seemed the most beautiful and enchanted being gracing the earth at that time: her long, dark waves were piled upon the top of her head, a few loose tendrils and bangs kissing her long neck and softly framing her oval face. Her ginger-snap eyes seemed to cast a spell upon his mind, shouding his senses and making his heart skip, shining starlight and framed by shadowy lashes.  
  
Evylenn breathed in also: some emotion passed through the brightness of her best friend's eyes at that moment which exactly reflected her own feelings, and yet could not be identified nor understood. She saw it, however, as clear as day; as clear as the glow of his flawless skin; as clear as the sunbeams of his hair; as clear as the purity of his good heart.  
  
Aragorn, watching all this from the outside, felt oddly and unnaturally like the spare gooseberry of the picnic, something he had never really experienced before... but he was able to forget this uncomfortable feeling for the next few minutes as he pondered the ridiculousness of the analogy he had used to describe the situation in his own head. Obviously, Evylenn and Legolas had been best friends long before the mortal made his appearance in the tapestry of Iluvatar, and many - family as well as friends - teased the two about the infamous notion that they would wind up as life-partners and the soul-mates they so obviously were, but still... then, they seemed more like Elves to him than ever before, and he was briefly unable to see the strong friendships he held with them both through the fact that they were both members of the Firstborn, and fine - almost definitive - examples of their race, as well.  
  
After a moment, Evylenn stood again, breaking the moment, still holding Legolas' slim hand in both her own. She watched her prince for a moment before letting her pretty lips curve into a smile as she thought about how lucky she was to have him back with her, whole and safe. "Aye, well... I am glad you returned to me - to us - mellon nin. I think these shores would be missing yet one more of the Firstborn had you decided to leave when you were about to... I doubt I would have been able to bear living in this world long without you," she said these words quietly, making it all the more obvious that they came swift from her heart. A little embarrassed, she bent down, loose hair falling into a faint veil about them, and pressed her soft lips to the smooth flesh of Legolas' cheek, trying to communicate how thankful she was that he was all right, and how much she cared for him. As soon as she had done this she was gone, glowing with feelings she could not explain (but had no qualms about experiencing), leaving the room silent behind her.  
  
Legolas' eyes diplomatically avoided Aragorn's, and instead fixed themselves with interest to the nearest wall as he himself struggled to keep the smile from his face. His best friend's jaw, on the other hand, seemed to be having trouble lifting from the floor. The ranger spluttered apoplectically for a moment or so, then cried out, eyes ablaze and voice ringing in supposed triumph, "You simply *cannot* mean to tell me that there is naught between you two, now... not after *that*!"  
  
"I don't know what you mean, Estel," Legolas returned with indifference, shining face still turned firmly away from his best friend's.  
  
"Don't you give me that, elf: you know what I mean," Aragorn's tone swiftly flowed into a challenge. Legolas suddenly made as if to stand, deciding he had dallied long enough in sluggary for the day, and the human unconsciously moved forward to help him. As he steadied the prince's left elbow, supporting the light weight for a time, he continued: "Now it is more than clear to me how your life will meet it's end- "  
  
"You have developed the gift of foresight, my lord?" Legolas interrupted sarcastically, grinning as he sat upon the end of his bed, looking up at the mortal. His grin widened with mischeif inherent in all Mirkwood elves in particular, "Tell me - how is it I go? Warg or dragon? Orc or man? Sword or scythe? Do I, perhaps, fall from my perch in a tree? Or is it likely I will be stomped on by a Dwarf?"  
  
Aragorn continued without acknowledging the interruption, and his eyes shone brightly with earnestness, articulating each word carefully and with intent " -*with her*."  
  
Legolas held his gaze a moment longer, grin still in place and green eyes sparking with lightning, before his grin slipped a little, his eyes narrowed and he turned his head to break eye contact. "Yes, well..." he said dubiously. "Perhaps it is merely that she takes care of me more than you do... or mayhap *cares* for me more than you do?" he smirked wickedly, attempting to bait the human.  
  
"Are you feeling neglected, my prince?" Aragorn returned, a look of mock concern furrowing his brow.  
  
"Well..." Legolas hesitated uncomfortably, and then stood up with abruptness, "perhaps not 'neglected', but I'm definately not overly-happy." The ranger sensed some truth behind the words, and stepped closer, face falling. Legolas smiled, waving one slim hand, "Nothing to worry about, Estel - I am merely bored of staying in bed all day; I wish to be back outside, continuing my warrior-training; my arm hurts all the time; and, as much as I love her, Niandias' chicken broth becomes a bit wearing after a while... but adar will not allow me anything else until I have 'built up my strength'." The fair archer hated to think he was whining, but he decided to indulge in it for a mere second, as he never usually allowed himself to.  
  
Aragorn's stubbled face, however, brightened suddenly at the last part. "Ahha!" he cried, glee in his tone, holding up a finger. "I can help you with that one!" And from the folds of his dark winter cloak and heavy leather tunic, he produced a plate, and upon that plate, there were piled high many honey-combed cakes, dripping in lemon and elderflower syrup, and bursting inside with honey, fractured with actual honey-comb. They were some of the most delicious things the Elves had ever created, and the whole of Middle-earth was thankful for such an achievement. The cakes were Legolas' favourite sweet, and yet he almost never ate them, feeling them to be too indulgent and sickly-sweet for a warrior such as he to eat on any sort of regular basis. He wasn't naturally fond of sweet food in any case, but he was far more than willing to make such an exception...  
  
Legolas almost felt his knees go weak at the sight of these beautifully- golden, wonderfully-scented cakes, and his mouth watered immediately. "Estel," he stammed, glancing up at the beaming face of his best friend. "Have I told you lately that you're possibly the greatest Man ever to walk Middle-earth?"  
  
"Greatest *man*?"  
  
"Greatest *creature*. Greatest *being*.... ever."  
  
"Hmmm... no. I don't think you have. Not lately, in any case."  
  
"Consider it told."  
  
Aragorn threw his dark head back and laughed a short bark of rugged laughter, so characteristic of him, and again offered the plate to Legolas, grinning widely. As the elf prince reached out and snagged a cake, revelling in the sticky texture, the ranger cautioned, "Do not let your father discover that I thrifted these from the kitchens... he'd have my hide if he knew I even let you see them, he's so determined to fatten you up with stodge. He'd skin me alive and then pin me to a tree by my boots."  
  
"I shall just have to destroy the evidence then, won't I? Only for *your* good, of course... what a good friend I am." Legolas grinned, a sparkling twinkle of starlight entering his forest green eyes. And with that, he crammed the whole of the small cake into his mouth in a most un-Elvish fashion, mouth full to bursting as he struggled to chew.  
  
Aragorn watched the event with astonishment, both amused and horrified. "And you call yourself a prince of elves," was all he eventually had to say on the matter.  
  
And it was that precise moment that both King Thranduil, Lord Elrond and Head Guard Selmanias decided to enter the room, the door beginning to swing slowly open, as though the elder elves themselves were dallying, probably distracted by speaking with one another. Neither acutely sensitive elf archer, nor practised and confident dunedain had sensed them coming, and they whirled at once in fear.  
  
It was as though time itself slowed to the pace of a snail, and all actions were made as though through mud. Aragorn's eyes widened in panic, and he mouthed '*Run*!' to his best friend, waving his arms, still holding the plate in one hand, desperately towards the bed in an effort to motivate Legolas to save both their lives. The prince, meanwhile, was having difficulty getting rid of the cake he had shovelled into his mouth - he now deeply regretted doing such a thing, as the honey was sticking his teeth together and the crumbs were catching in the back of his throat, making him cough and splutter debris all over the unfortunate ranger. He managed, however, to deftly scramble into his bed in any case, graced with natural speed and perhaps aided by some sort of elvish magic, he was under the covers faster than Aragorn could blink. The door opened fully, with Legolas finally swallowing the contents of his mouth *just* in time, and both of their fathers were revealed to them, along with Selmanias, framed in the doorway.  
  
"What's going on?" Thranduil's large bluey-grey eyes narrowed in suspicion immediately as he beheld his son and the prince's best friend holding themselves very stiffly, young faces turned earnestly towards the newcomers, a disconcerting feeling of unnatural innocence tangible in the air all about them.  
  
The human blanched. "Err... whatever do you mean, my King? What would make you ask such a thing?" Partly to avoid Legolas' father's intimidating glare and partly to avoid his father's own mocking one, Aragorn furtively glanced at Legolas to gauge his best friend's expression and manner, forgetting momentarily that breaking eye contact with the second party and doing exactly what he was doing was one of the most recognisable warning signs for the second party to spot a liar.  
  
Unfortunately Thranduil, on the other hand, had not forgotten.  
  
"Because I have known you both too long, Estel, to ever be fooled by you," the mighty elf king answered coolly, crossing his arms pointedly across his strong chest and shifting his weight onto his back foot, raising one dark brow pointedly, awaiting an explanation.  
  
Aragorn was acutely aware of the plate of cakes he held behind his back, they seemed so heavy and obvious to him at that moment he secretly wondered how the King of Elven Archers had not spotted them with his keen, practised eyes. He turned partially to Legolas, indicating that the son should be the one to be killed by the father. Legolas, however, was trying very, *very* hard at that moment not to see the funny side of the situation. He could feel a muscle in his cheek twitching a little, and his firm, fixed smile had begun to shake as he himself almost started to quiver with laughter. The timing was awful, and he couldn't believe his body was going to betray him so, as his father would most definately not be as amused as he when he broke out into peals of giggles (as he felt he was about to). But he couldn't help it: he found the sequence of events really quite humourous.  
  
Thank Valar for Selmanias, though. The Head Guard - behaving in a manner very similar to one that Glorfindel of Rivendell was sometimes wont to behave in - spotting the signs of an impending doom for the young prince, and not wanting him to have his recovery set back any further than was necessary (what with Legolas only just having survived and all), swiftly brought a guiding hand to his friend's elbow, and cleverly urged Thranduil away from the two trouble-makers. Legolas was eternally thankful for being blessed with having Selmanias as a sort of uncle, as this was not the first time disaster had been avoided in such a way... the silver-haired, silver- eyed guard had always been rather fond of the youngest prince, and decided to act upon this feeling at the most appropriate times, something Legolas never forgot.  
  
The King was given time only to glare sharply at them before he disappeared down the corridor, leaving Lord Elrond in the room, Selmanias also throwing the young human and elf a half-reproachful, half-gloating look with his colourless eyes before he, too, could not be seen. The two friends visibly deflated as the danger passed, and Legolas began to chuckle, mouth still partially full of the delicious cake Aragorn had given him. The ranger, bringing the plate of the remaining cakes around to his front, just looked at his best friend as though he were mad to be amused at all.  
  
Lord Elrond watched them, a small smile upon his noble features, "I shall say it again, you two are astoundingly lucky..."  
  
Aragorn looked back to his father and nodded heartily, "That one was mainly my fault, though... to be fair." At the elven lord's questioning face, the young man simply waved a hand, falling in sudden exhaustion into the chair beside Legolas' bed, and running his other hand through his tousled locks with the stress he had just experienced: "You don't want to know."  
  
"Aye, probably not."  
  
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"Now, push out and reach for me... try to touch my hand."  
  
Legolas felt a bead of sweat wind it's way down the side of his forehead, but was too distracted at that moment to wipe it away. He focused all his strength and concentration upon mentally ordering his arm to extend, and get the pads of his fingers to merely brush against those that Lord Elrond was holding out for him. If they just graced the same air as Elrond's, then Legolas would be satisfied... as it was, he was having trouble merely straightening his arm, the muscles still weakened and unable to support their own weight. Slowly however, the limb obeyed, raising haltingly, the muscles rippling and twitching under the pale skin with the effort.  
  
Aragorn, watching anxiously from the sidelines, had to bite his bottom lip to refrain from calling out words of encouragement to his best friend - though it would make him feel better, Legolas would most likely not appreciate it, and the ranger would probably end up with a thick ear for his troubles. It was just so hard and frustrating to watch the prince having to work so much, merely to lift his arm and reach out, and Aragorn - who had known him since he himself was a very little boy - still couldn't imagine what Legolas was feeling... he had to applaud the archer, though, for not screaming with impatience. He knew his best friend couldn't wait to get back to his warrior-training, and was worried that this setback could damage his trade as an archer, warrior, guard (and whatever else he was) permenantly... whoever heard of an arrowsman who could not pull back a bowstring? And Legolas was not blessed with a Maia's patience in the first place. But either way, Legolas had clamped his mouth shut against complaint, and was merely getting on with it, and Aragorn felt a flare of pride and awe in his heart whenever the elf gained a little more ground over his injury.  
  
Tantalizingly close, so very near to reaching Elrond's outstretched fingers, Legolas' hand began to shake violently, the strain quickly becoming too much for his weakened muscles. His eyes widened, and lightening bolts of silver-fury shot through them in his anger, and a noise of frustration made deep in the back of his throat escaped him before he could check it. Betrayed by his own arm! He tried desperately to calm down and regain his control.  
  
Elrond, who had looked up when he had heard Legolas desperate grunt, watched as the prince seemed to centre himself, exhaling slowly and releasing all of his negative emotions, and began to once more lift the falling arm up to a stable level. He felt a smile begin to creep across his lips as Legolas, eyes still closed firmly shut, began to stretch his hand forward, bettering where he had been able to reach just a moment or so before, to meet with that of his own. The elven lord kept his hand completely still, and simply watched the slow progression of Legolas' hand, until he felt the warmth of the prince's smooth palm upon his own. He clasped his fingers around Greenleaf's, capturing and securing them, so even when the archer deflated in relief and triumph, his injured arm was still kept straight. Elrond had to chuckle as he heard his own son whoop in happiness from the other side of the chamber at the success of his friend.  
  
Keeping the arm straight, Elrond ran his other hand along it's length, testing the strength of the taught muscles and probing for problem areas. Eventually satisfied that the arm was indeed gaining back it's strength, and this was no fluke, he lowered the limb and smirked at his son's pale best friend, who was leaning back in his chair, quite exhausted. Legolas managed to give him a shaky grin in return. Elrond reached out, placing a hand fatherly upon the younger elf's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Legolas' green eyes twinkled starlight as he nodded back. Things were most definately returning to how they had been.  
  
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"Thankyou once again, mellon nin, for all you have done for us."  
  
Elrond smiled fondly back at his good friend, and replied easily, "It was no trouble - I was happy to... anything to return Legolas back to health is completely worth it."  
  
The two mighty elves were wandering through the open stone corridors of the snow-covered grounds, taking time to sniff the fresh air and wonder at the sparkling snow drifts. Thranduil, who's hands were shoved rather un-Kingly but firmly deep into the pockets of his rich blue robes to ward off against the coolness of the air, grinned boyishly back at Elrond, his dark eyes sparkling with happiness, "Aye... it's clear to me that our minds walk along the same pathways."  
  
The Rivendell lord chuckled and began to say something further, but then looked up as his sharp ears picked up a distant noise. A sound like shouting - though impossible to recognise the tone used - had drifted towards them. At his side, Thranduil had obviously picked up the strange disturbance as well, and stood stock still and alert, unconsciously mirroring the stance his youngest son had taken many days ago upon first realising that Wargs were near.  
  
"Shall we investigate?" suggested Elrond hopefully after a moment, dark brows raised. The King nodded vehemently in answer, inherent Mirkwood curiosity heightened and natural bravery evident - warriors were needed for such an excursion, and Elrond and himself were exactly the ones to do it... no stealth-warriors needed in *this* case.  
  
Like stealthy predators they crept, crouched slightly down, along the open white-stone corridors, till they came to a beautifully-carved archway at the end of it that led out into the large courtyard beyond. The two renowned elves - known across Middle-earth for their wisdom, unnumerable years, fighting capabilities and leadership skills - pressed themselves close to the white wall of the archway, and peeked curiously round the corner, careful to keep out of sight of whatever horror they might be facing... ...  
  
... ... Aragorn was looking at his boots as he stomped about in the snow, relishing the creaking noise it made beneath the heavy soles of his black leather winter footwear, and staring happily as small piles of the sparkling water-crystals began to heap up upon the tops of his feet as he walked. He was in the process of trying to use up as much of the unblemished snow in the courtyard as possible: trophies of his success in this goal were already laid all about - snow-angels decorated each corner of the yard; he had written both his, his brothers', Legolas' and Arwen's names with a skilled stick in the formerly-blank drifts; and a snowelf - which Legolas still insisted was a snowman, and had deliberately made alterations to support this, making the creation shorter, heftier and uglier (which Aragorn did not appreciate at all) - stood upright and proud near the frozen fountain. Now he was merely stomping about.  
  
"Come *on*, Estel... I wish to do something!" Legolas muffled, all-but whine met his ears from where the elf stood, accompanied by his three hounds, a few feet away. Aragorn looked up at him and had to suppress a grin: Lainathan, a kind she-elf who had been Legolas' nanny when he was an elfling (and was still an essential part of life to the archer because he loved her so and cared not unless she was about), concerned for her prince's health, had insisted upon wrapping the warrior up in many layers, so he looked almost as though he was adorned in swathling clothes. So there he stood, about three times bigger than his normal size; a soft hat drawn down over his shining blonde hair and covering his sensitive elvish ears; his gloved hands firmly wedged beneath each armpit; a fur lined cloak wrapped close to his body; and a plush scarf pulled up to his nose, covering his mouth and muffling his words. The only bit of the elf's flesh available to the world now Lainathan was through was the blushing skin of the tops of his cheeks to just below his golden brows. Legolas was not suffering this indignity with good grace, and so Aragorn had refrained till then of poking fun. Legolas was bored with simply watching his friend mess about in a decidedly-human way in the snow, while he himself was not able to, mending arm still in a sling and pretty useless.  
  
Aragorn kicked the mounds of collected snow off the tops of his boots with funny little shakes of his feet, making it very hard for Legolas not to laugh, and turned to face the archer. He grinned rougishly, eyes crinkling, and decided that then was the time to make his mark, and unleash his weapons: "Oh, forgive me, Legolas - I had forgotten that you are still too weak and feeble to participate in anything more strenuous than lifting your head from pillows."  
  
The next sequence of events happened so fast that it was only later, when Aragorn was bedding down for the night and could afford time to think, that the ranger was able to dissect exactly what had happened: all he had known at that moment was an intense cold feeling enveloping his whole face... he had known at that moment that his face had caught the snowball Legolas had thrown his way. The elf had moved so quickly - a combination of natural speed and a little bit of elf magic to aid him - that an unsuspecting Aragorn had not been able to even think about ducking or moving out the way. So he simply stood there for a few moments, stuttering his surprise, the bits of snow caught in his eyelashes and raggedy beard fast beginning to melt... all to the sound of Legolas laughing joyously at the outcome.  
  
When he was eventually able to think again, and after he'd wiped the wet snow from his beard with a gloved hand, Aragorn did the only thing he could have done in those circumstances: he retaliated. "Take that, you elven demon!" he cried, launching himself at his best friend and slamming a considerable amount of snow into the prince's fair face with the whole of his hand, being sure to rub the glittering handful right into the archer's golden hair and aiming to get as much snow as possible under Legolas' hat before he replaced it.  
  
Legolas gasped aloud, the freezing cold weapon assaulting him without warning, and he stumbled back when Aragorn's snow-laden palm met his face, so there was now some distance between them once more. And so began an extremely short-lived but wonderfully savage snow fight, in which anything went and there were no rules to speak of. Legolas, it turned out to the ranger's disgust, was able to pick up, roll, mould and throw snowballs extremely quickly; and yet in the same way, Aragorn's heavy-duty boots made light work of the snow all about, and he swiftly developed a skilled, shuffling technique in which he could flush masses of snow up into the air - and into Legolas' unsuspecting face - at any given time.  
  
The shouts and desperate squawks and yells of the two made the three dark hounds (Blaith, Aklar and Silme) who had previously been sitting blithely by, awaiting their master's command, begin to fret, and they all now stood to attention, barking at the two friends and making their annoyance known. It occurred to Legolas just then how loyal his dogs were, and how they would do anything if he so willed it. They were, after all, decended from the great Wolfhounds of the Age of the Stars - those bred by the Elves of Beleriand to counter the evil of the Werewolves that infected the lands at that time: it was their natural duty.  
  
It was then that he disengaged himself from the tangle of his best friend's arms, and took a few steps back. Triumphantly, he watched Aragorn's confused, wet and slightly blue face turn to him, he watched as the ranger's slate grey eyes widened in his realisation...  
  
"Blaith, Aklar, Silme.... *Lyngwe lom* [Kill him]!" he cried, green eyes ablaze with silver vengeance.  
  
And it was so that Aragorn disappeared under an army of wet snouts, huge paws, jet black fur and furiously wagging tails, making Legolas helplessly laugh all the harder, good arm wrapped around his aching sides and tears spilling from the corners of his eyes, till he himself had to sit down in the snow... ...  
  
... ... Thranduil's dark head returned from peering round the corner of the arch and, attempting to ignore Aragorn's desperate cries of help, punctuated with hysterical laughter and occaisional yelps, gave his friend an amused, sheepish smile. He was about to explain the actions of his youngest son when he was interrupted by Legolas' own fair voice, filled with excitement and encouragement, shouting out distantly (supposedly to his hounds), "Gurth gothlye: mereth en draugrim [Death to our foe: the feast of wolves]!"  
  
And in answer, there came Aragorn's voice, babbling out a lengthy stream of elvish in protest: "Nay, tampa tanya - ai, tua amin Legolas! Aiya! Tampa tanya, tanya awra! Kela! Kela, nadorhuanrim... Amin lava! Amin lava, tua amin! Legolas!! [No, stop that - oh, help me, Legolas! Ow! Stop that, that hurt! Go away! Go away, cowardly dogs... I yield! I yield, help me! Legolas!!]"  
  
And there was not really much the King of Mirkwood *could* say after that, when he turned to find Elrond with one eyebrow raised, awaiting some sort of explanation... and so he grinned and placed a friendly hand upon Lord Elrond's arm, and led him gently away from the battle field, and began instead to talk about Yuletide as the snow began to fall again, insisting that the House of Rivendell spend the festival in Mirkwood, for it seemed to do them all some sort of good when they were together, though he could not explain it so.  
  
The End.  
  
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A/N: And so, we come to the end. It's been an absolute ball, and I'm so very glad you've all gotten up to dance at one time or another. Can't tell you how much your reviews mean to me, and so won't even begin to attempt to tell you all individually. Hope you've enjoyed the rollercoaster, I know I've had a belting time... know that you're all dead class and I really appreciated the support etc... now tell me what you thought!  
  
Cheers for the last time... AliciA xxxx 


End file.
